


Something Wild

by IceQueenofMitera



Series: Child of the Winter Moon [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Come on. We all know Geralt can't keep it in his pants, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Sensuality, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 53,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28703940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceQueenofMitera/pseuds/IceQueenofMitera
Summary: Juray of Riverdell isn't your typical woman. Born under the first full moon of winter and named a curse upon her village for her white hair, Juray finds herself under the tutelage of Witchers of the Wolf School, becoming one of the few female Witchers.But with their numbers dwindling and fear all around, Juray's life as a Witcher may not be a quiet as she would like, especially when she discovers that Ithlinne's Prophecy may be coming to pass with sightings of the Wild Hunt.When she discovers that Geralt of Rivia is on the trail of the one person that could stop the end of the world, Juray joins with him, discovering things about herself along the way. Can Juray's secret help Ciri defeat the White Frost, or is the Lady of Worlds doomed to fail?
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Child of the Winter Moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104104
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. 1: A Child Surprise

The couple ran through the trees, loud crashing drawing closer to them. They had been warned to be indoors by sunset, but they had tarried too long and now the beast that had been haunting the village and killing anyone who was unlucky enough to be outside had their scent. If they could just reach their home… They emerged from the woods and found themselves face to face with a man aiming a crossbow towards the forest.

“Behind me!” he said gruffly. “Now!”

They did not have to be told twice. The two ran around a building to hide, the man peeking out to watch the brave soul. He hadn’t moved, still aiming the crossbow. His armor was dark, thus they could barely see him. Across his back were two swords and there looked to be several round containers on his belt. The beast came crashing out of the trees and before it could comprehend the man in front of it, he’d released the bolt, sending it sailing through its eye. The beast yowled before charging at the man. He quickly threw down the crossbow and drew the outside sword, defending himself. It yowled again and swiped at the man. He dodged, but it caught him in the shoulder, knocking him down. But he was quickly back to his feet, attacking the monster. To the couple’s surprise and faster than they could track, the man was on top of the beast and in one fell swing, beheaded it. The man hopped off the beast and cleaned off his sword before returning it to its place. He gave a whistle and a black horse trotted out from between the buildings. The man attached the beast’s head to the saddle before turning to where the couple was hiding.

“Get out here.” The couple emerged from hiding. “What were you thinking? You could have been killed.”

“We just lost track of time,” the man explained.

“You were lucky I was out here to say your asses.” The man had dark hair cut short with yellow eyes that looked like a cat’s. On his chest lay a pendant shaped like a wolf’s head and they realized that a Witcher had just saved them.

“How can we thank you for saving us, Master Witcher?”

“I don’t work for free.”

“But… we haven’t the coin to pay you.”

“Then I claim the Law of Surprise. What you find at home yet don’t expect.”

“Then you shall have our firstborn,” the woman said. The two men turned to her.

“What?”

“I was going to tell you when we returned home.” She turned back to the Witcher. “You shall have the child I am carrying.”

**7 YEARS LATER**

The little girl looked upon the fortress with wide-eyed wonder. Her parents had told her that she would be going someplace special where she could be around people like her. Juray was scared, naturally. She was going someplace new after all, leaving behind everything she knew. Not that she would miss what she left behind. Her parents left her to her own designs, doting on her younger brother. The other children would avoid her so she would often play by herself. The entire village would have nothing to do with her. All because she was unlucky enough to be born under the first full moon of the winter. The elders called her cursed. The villagers called her White Demon. Because she had been born with snow-white hair. Then came the day the stranger came to their door. She watched from around the corner as her parents spoke to him before her mother started to pack provisions and called to Juray, giving her the pack and telling her she had to go with the man.

“You’re going to a place to be with people like you,” she’d said. “It’s much better this way.”

Juray was scared of this gruff man with two swords and a scar down the left side of his face. But he held out his hand to her, the first person she’d ever known to do that to her. So she left with him, waving goodbye to her parents. She stopped being afraid of him when he ran off the children who threw rocks at them, shouting her hated nickname at her. The man explained to her that he’d saved her parents before she was born and they agreed to send her with him to train to be a Witcher. This frightened her, but after a long journey that felt like it took years, Juray looked upon the walls of Kaer Morhen and she couldn’t help but feel a little excited for the first time in her life.

James hadn’t expected the child he’d claimed as his reward would be a girl. He thought about not claiming her until her parents begged him to take her.

“You will never see her again. If she goes through this training.”

“She will do better among your kind,” the father said. “She’s a cursed child.”

James raised a brow. “Cursed?”

“She was born under the first full moon of the winter. If she stays, she’ll spread her curse to the rest of the village.”

James rubbed his forehead. “Fine. I’ll take the girl since I’m sure if I don’t you’ll use her as bait for the next monster that bothers your village.”

“She should have been stillborn.”

James couldn’t believe what had just come out of the father’s mouth.

The mother turned and pack some provisions for their daughter. “Juray. Get out here.”

A little girl of about six walked into the room and he now saw why they were convinced she was cursed. The girl’s wild hair was snow white, a stark contrast to her bright blue eyes. James had only met one other child with white hair, a Witcher student whose hair had gone from black as night to white when he’d undergone the Trial of the Grasses, his resistance to the mutagens unseen before and he was given extra mutagens to test how far that resistance went. The boy was the only survivor of the group of students given the extra mutagens. James looked over the girl and wondered if he was giving her a death sentence.

Juray’s mother handed her the bundle. “You’re going to go with him. He’s going to take you to a special place to live with children just like you.” Juray didn’t look convinced and James could smell the fear on her. A fear he was used to as a Witcher. “You have to go now.”

The little girl still didn’t move. Until James held his hand out to her. She hesitantly stepped forward and put her small hand into his. As James led her to the door, she turned and waved at her family. They didn’t wave back.

Outside, a group of children waited. “There she is! White Demon!” They started to throw rocks at her. “White Demon will kill us all.”

Juray squeezed his hand tighter as a couple of the rocks hit her and she whimpered.

“Enough,” James said, gruffly.

A couple of the children ran wide-eyed once they realized the stranger was a Witcher, one crying about freaks. The rest of the children kept throwing rocks until one bounced off James’ leg.

“Get lost, you little bastards.” He gave a wave of his hand, casting Axii to make them leave. “Go back home.”

They all froze, before dropping the rocks and turning around and leaving.

“How did you do that?” Juray asked as he lifted her onto the horse.

James mounted behind her, taking the reins. “It’s something Witchers can do.” He turned his horse, glad to leave this superstitious lot behind.

Vesemir was watching over the training yard. Lambert was being aggressive as usual. Eskel and Geralt were sparring with each other. Little Berenger, one of the youngest of the apprentices was attacking a training dummy, his mentor sighing and shaking his head. He turned his head as a lone rider came into the keep. He knew that James had gone to claim his Unexpected Child and Vesemir and Rennes moved towards the stables to meet him. Both men were surprised to see the child he claimed was a little white-haired girl that had to be no more than six.

“James,” Rennes motioned to the girl. “You know that we only train boys.”

“We can train her,” James interrupted. “We don’t have to make her go through the Trials, but I have a very good reason to have brought her anyway.” Rennes motioned for him to continue. “The girl was born under the first full moon of winter. Her hair color caused the village to believe her cursed and she was shunned by everyone, including her own family. If I left her, she would be dead before her next birthday.” James felt the girl’s arm around his leg and he reached down to put a hand on her shoulder. Vesemir noticed the gesture, noting that James had never done that before to any of the apprentices, even the boy that he had basically raised from birth who perished during his final Trial.

“Why not, Rennes?” Vesemir asked. “It would do her good.”

“Do you really think the students want a little girl training next to them?”

“She’s training with them, Rennes,” James said. “She has nowhere else.”

“We’re not a charity. We don’t just take in orphans.”

“She’s my Unexpected Child and we will train her.”

Renne's lips drew into a flat line.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Vesemir said. “He saved her parents, the girl was his reward for doing so.”

“Fine.” Rennes then turned and walked away.

“He’s not happy.”

“Of course, he’s not,” James snorted.

“So they were convinced she’s cursed?” Vesemir looked down at the girl. “You have a name, kid?”

“Juray.”

Juray learned quickly, much to the amusement of most of the boys. Berenger, being a year older than her, would spar with her the most. And she usually succeeded in besting him. She may have been smaller but she used that to her advantage. In this particular sparring session, Juray had bested Berenger, knocking him on his back before promptly sitting on his chest, causing the boys around them to laugh.

“I can see why your village called you White Demon,” he commented. “You fight like one.”

“Don’t call me that, please.” Juray stood, helping Berenger to his feet.

Lambert walked by at that moment, purposely bumping into her hard enough to cause her to stumble. “If you’re done playing, why don’t you move so the real Witcher students can spar,” he said.

Juray sighed. She’d been putting up with his verbal abuse for the past two years. She hadn’t seen him in a week or two, as he’d just gone through the Trial of the Grasses. Like Juray, he was a product of the Law of Surprise, here as a reward because he was the first thing his father saw upon returning home. Unlike Juray, who was much happier around people that didn’t shun her because of her hair, one of the older boys also had white hair, Lambert was bitter about it.

“What makes you think I’m not going to be a Witcher?” Juray retorted, answering his jabs for the first time.

Lambert looked at her and scoffed. “Because you’re a girl.”

“So? Who says girls can’t be Witchers?”

“Do you see any girl Witchers?”

“Obviously, most of the Witchers are on the Path.”

Berenger laughed. “She has you there.”

“Shut up, Berenger.”

Nearby, Geralt and Eskel had stopped sparring.

“You shouldn’t even be here, girl.”

“Well, you don’t have a say in that.”

“You think you’re so special because you have white hair? Because you’re a girl? Nobody’s special here. You’re a nobody. Hell, your parents didn’t even want you.”

Juray didn’t answer, Lambert jabbing where it hurt the most.

He scoffed. “The little White Demon nobody wants around.” Juray took a step back. “Are you going to run and cry now? Just sit in the dirt and cry.” He then shoved her hard enough that she fell onto her backside. “You’ll never be a Witcher.”

Juray picked herself up, only to have Lambert shove her back down. He was suddenly pulled back and shoved himself.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Lambert?” Geralt said, crossing his arms and protecting Juray so she could rise.

“Like you? You’re nothing special either. You haven’t even done the Trial of Dreams yet?”

“So? You’re not anything special either, so why don’t you leave Juray alone before I rearrange your face.”

Lambert balled his fist up, ready to throw a punch, but suddenly backed down, instead shoving past Geralt and heading off the training yard. Geralt watched him go, noticing that both Rennes and Vesemir had seen the whole incident.

He turned his head to Juray. “You okay?”

Juray nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Geralt.”

“I think you’d make a good Witcher.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Eskel said. “You’ve only been here two years and you’re already kicking Berenger’s arse several times.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true,” Geralt said. “We just watched her do it.”

“Do you think Rennes will let me? I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“All you have to do is convince Vesemir,” Eskel said with a smile.

“Until then, come on,” Geralt said. “You need a challenge.”


	2. The Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is called onto a Contract while Juray goes through her first Trial to become a Witcher.

Juray danced around James as they sparred, her mentor shouting pointers as they did so. Instead of Vesemir, it had been James Juray had gone to to express her desire to become a Witcher and walk the Path. The two had discussed it at length and when James saw how determined she was to join their ranks, he agreed to convince Rennes, who was the head of the school. James had several Unexpected Children over the years, but Juray seemed to be the only one that he’d bonded with like this. He treated the girl as if she were his own flesh and blood daughter, the words her true father had uttered the day James claimed her making him want to show her what family was truly like. Juray, in turn, saw him as her father, even calling him papa, much to Vesemir’s amusement. Juray was currently going through the Choice, the change in her diet and the rigorous training not seeming to phase her. James pushed her, determined to prove that she could handle it and prove Rennes wrong. She was resilient and stubborn, pushing herself harder when several of the boys around her were failing the trial.

After several blows that she successfully blocked and countered, James finally held his hand up. “Alright, enough,” he said. Juray stepped back. “Go take a break.”

“Afraid I’ll kick your arse?” she asked with a grin.

James gave a laugh. “ _I_ need a break. I’m not as young as I look.” He then shook his head as she went over to train with Geralt.

In the three years she’d been here, several of the older boys had taken her under their wing, Geralt, Eskel, and Berenger acting as older brothers. The three even had to break up a fight between Juray and Lambert. All three were certain that Juray was winning when they pulled her off him. Lambert had been particularly nasty towards Juray from the moment she started training, growing worst when she started the Choice. James sighed as he watched Juray dance around Geralt. She was at the age where she could go through her next trial. The Trial of the Grasses would be what made or broke her, would prove she had what it took to become a Witcher and he hoped resilience went along with her stubbornness and determination. The mages would be overseeing the next round of the trial next week and Juray had been on their list.

“Your girl is impressive, James.”

The Witcher looked over his shoulder at Vesemir. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone catch on more quickly.”

“She might be the only one here not pissed that they’re having to become Witchers.”

“She fits in here. Mostly.”

James looked over at his mentor. “She seems to have taken up with your boys pretty well.” While Geralt was Vesemir’s ward, he’d taken over Eskel when his mentor found himself caught in the middle of a political dispute while on a Contract and wrongly executed for crimes he hadn’t even been in the area to commit.

“Well, Geralt is the only other child she’s met with white hair.”

“Good point.”

“I saw she’s going through the Trial of the Grasses in a few days.”

“Yeah.”

Vesemir placed his hand on James’ shoulder. “She’s resilient, my friend. She’ll survive it.”

“I only hope you are right.”

~~~

Juray held her head up as she walked into the mages’ laboratory with nine boys. The mages explained that this trial would test their resilience and resistance to mutagens they would find in the field, warning that it would be painful and they would be changed afterward. Each child, ranging in ages 8 to 10, was then directed to pick a table and lay on it. They were then tied down to the table. Juray’s heart beat harder at the feel of the ropes but was determined to pass the trial.

_“I’ll be here when you pass,” James said. “This will determine if you have what it takes to be a Witcher.”_

_“Eskel said girls don’t usually pass the Grasses.”_

_“None have in the past, but you are not most girls.” He gave a mischievous smile. “You’re the White Demon.”_

_“Papa!” Juray hated the name with a passion, but it seemed to be following her around. Mostly from Lambert calling her that knowing how much she hated it._

_“You’ll pass, Juray. And I’ll be here when you do.”_

Juray was determined to pass for her mentor. In her mind, he was her father and she wanted to make him proud. The mages began to administer the trial, cries from the other boys going up as the mutagens began their work. One mage stopped next to her, sticking a needle into her arm and injecting a mixture of mutagens and herbs into it. The pain was the first thing to hit her and she couldn’t stop the scream that ripped out her throat.

~~~

Two boys died the first day, and by the second a third had died. It was on that second day that Vesemir approached James as he watched the tower the mages’ laboratory was in.

“Staring at the tower isn’t going to make the wait go by any faster,” he said.

“I know.” Vesemir handed him a missive. “What’s this?”

“It’s from Angelo.”

James sighed and broke the seal, Angelo being a local noble that passed Contracts his way when he had problems with various beasts and monsters. James lost count of how many Drowners he’d killed for the man. He read the letter, thinking he was asking for another Drowner nest to be cleared. Instead, a beast seemed to be terrorizing his lands and he’d lost too many men already to it. “He has a Contract for me.”

“The Trial is going to take a couple of weeks. This will get your mind off Juray and give you something to do.”

James gave Vesemir a look.

“It’ll do you good. Now go. You’re the only one Angelo likes working with.”

“Fine.”

Angelo paid well, although James didn’t understand why the man wouldn’t work with other Witchers. He went to his room and donned his armor, retrieving his swords as he walked out. He then headed to the stables to retrieve his horse, a stable boy having already saddled him up. James took the reins and mounted, riding out of the keep.

~~~

“It came out of the darkness,” the man said to James. “I was lucky to survive. She killed the others.”

“She?”

“It looked like a woman in beastly form. She ran on all fours, had claws that ripped men apart, wild blond hair and a look of bloodlust in her eyes.”

“Where did you encounter it?”

“South of the manor. Near the family crypts.”

James nodded before turning and walking out the room.

Angelo was waiting for him. “Well?”

“Has most of the sighting been south of the manor, near the crypts?”

“Come to think of it, yeah.”

“I think I know what we’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“A striga. I can either lift the curse or kill her.”

“What happens if you lift the curse?”

“She’ll need constant supervision, amulets, and participate in rituals to keep the curse at bay.”

“Why constant supervision?”

“She won’t be all there up here.” James tapped his temple. “The curse affects the mind even after being lifted.”

“Wait… there was a family that recently moved into the village just south of the manor. They had a daughter that wasn’t mentally there.”

“I’ll speak to them. And see if their daughter is the striga.”

James arrived at the village not long after dawn. The residents were well acquainted with him, as he cleared out a grave hag a few years earlier from the cemetery near Angelo’s family’s crypts. The village elder waved to him as he went to meet him. James dismounted as the elder joined him.

“Master Witcher! You are a sight for sore eyes!”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you here about the beast terrorizing Lord Angelo’s lands?”

“I am. Have you had any trouble with it?”

“Not since I’ve had everyone be indoors by sunset. The beast only comes out at night and we have heard it going through the village in search of living beings to devour. We have lost much of our livestock to it.”

“I was told a new family moved to the village not long ago.”

“They did,” the elder suddenly frowned. “You know, come to think of it, it was several weeks after they arrived that the beast first appeared.”

“Where are they?”

The elder pointed at an unassuming house close to the blacksmithy. James nodded and headed towards the house as the elder went about his business. The Witcher knocked on the door and immediately heard someone scrambling and a gasp.

“Oh, gods,” a female voice said in near panic.

“Calm down,” a male voice said. James heard footsteps towards the door. When the door opened, a middle-aged man stood there, his eyes widening. “Oh, gods.” He tried to shut the door in James’ face, but his quick reflexes caught it before it could.

“That’s rude,” he said. The man backed away, his wife running to him as James came into the house. “I just want to ask if you’ve seen the beast that has been terrorizing the village.”

The wife started to wail. “Please! You can’t kill her! You can’t kill her!”

“Amara!” the husband hissed.

It was just the confirmation James needed. “The curse relapsed, didn’t it?”

The husband nodded. “We did everything we could to keep it at bay. It just wasn’t enough. Excuse me a moment, Master Witcher.” He disappeared into the back with his wailing wife and James could hear him telling her he would speak to the Witcher about lifting the curse again. When he returned, he motioned outside. “We’ll speak outside.”

James let him walk out first, not trusting him not to slam and lock the door.

Once outside, the man ran his hand through his hair. “A Witcher lifted Carolyn’s curse while she was still a child. She used to go into a neighbor’s garden and pick strawberries. Turned out, he was a mage and caught her stealing his strawberries and cursed her as punishment. She hasn’t been the same since the curse was lifted. She wore the amulets, went to the rituals. But one day she disappeared and we found out she’d taken the amulet off.”

“So Carolyn reverted back to a striga?”

“I’m afraid so,” he sighed. “I speak to you out here because I’m asking you to grant her the mercy of death.”

“You _want_ me to kill your daughter?”

“My wife, she would do anything for her. But my daughter is gone. The sweet little girl she was before died when that mage cursed her. Having to be watched at all times, the amulets, the rituals. It is too much for me to bear. I cannot go through this again. Please, Master Witcher. I’m begging you. The life she’s been living is no life at all.”

James sighed. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

James walked away to go and prepare for the fight he would have.

~~~

James waited near the crypts as night approached. The villagers were locked tight in their homes. Angelo had recalled his patrols, not wanting them to get caught in the middle of a Witcher’s fight. James meditated as he waited and before long, the striga emerged from the crypt.

“Right on time,” he said as he opened his eyes and quietly stood, drawing his silver sword.

The striga stopped, sniffing the air as James popped the stopper of a bottle with his thumb. The striga turned at the sound as James downed the contents. He gave a pained grunt as the potion went into effect, his veins becoming pronounced as it worked its way through his body. The striga growled, stalking towards him. James held his sword up defensively. The two circled around each other before the striga gave a long roar and charged. James dodged at the last moment, spinning around and bringing the sword down across her back, the oil he had coated his blade with causing the wound to sizzle. The striga screeched and came back for another charge. With a practiced hand, James cast Aard, the telekinetic blast sending the beast back. She dug her claws into the ground to stop her progress before immediately charging with a burst of speed and slamming into James, the two rolling in a tangled mess of claws, teeth, and metal. She managed to bite down into his thigh, James giving a cry of pain. The striga then jumped back with a yelp, spitting and whining.

“I don’t taste too appetizing, do I?” James taunted, the Black Blood potion working its poison through the monster.

The striga stopped and glared at James as he staggered to his feet. She charged again and James cast Igni, the flames shooting from his hand towards her. She dodged it and landed a blow across his abdomen, the momentum spinning him completely around. He felt her claws tear straight through his armor and rip through his flesh. He gritted his teeth, grunting as he fell to all fours. He could sense the beast coming behind him and he threw his hand back, quickly casting Yrden. The striga walked right into the magical trap as James regained his footing. Unable to move, she could only screech at him. With a hand over his wound, he walked over to the beast. She screeched at him again, before she was cut off with the dismembering of her head. After cleaning and sheathing his sword, he gave a loud whistle, his horse soon appearing through the trees. He took the striga’s head and attached it to his saddle as proof he’d killed her, before painfully mounting. He turned the stallion towards Angelo’s manor.

~~~

“My lord!” one of Angelo’s guards unceremoniously burst through the door of the dining room.

“What is it?” he asked, annoyed.

“James has returned, but you should come quickly.”

Angelo frowned at the urgency in the guard’s voice and excused himself from his family. He and the guard quickly made their way through the manor and to the courtyard to find several servants around one area.

“Back to your stations,” he ordered and they scattered, but didn’t go far. Against the wall of the manor sat James, his head leaned back and an arm across his abdomen. Angelo crouched down next to the Witcher. “James?”

James, who seemed to look paler than normal, nodded his head towards his horse.

“Striga is dead.”

“What happened?”

“She was pretty pissed that I was there to kill her. Gave it her all.”

“Get the herbalist.”

One of the servants ran off to do as he commanded.

“Should have used Quen. Wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He gave a scoff of a chuckle. “To think a fucking striga is the one to do me in.”

“You’re a Witcher. Your kind is hard to kill.”

The herbalist joined them and went about examining James’ wounds. “If you weren’t a Witcher, you’d have been dead long before you reached these walls,” she said.

“I’m a Witcher? Had no idea.”

“Didn’t know you had a sense of humor,” Angelo commented.

“There’s nothing I can do, my lord. His wounds are beyond anything I can do.”

Angelo nodded and the herbalist left. He turned his attention back to James. “What can I do?”

“Send a bird to Vesemir in Kaer Morhen. Tell him what happened and to keep an eye on Juray for me. She won’t take this news well.” James could only think of how he’d broken his promise to his adopted daughter. He’d wanted to be there, to see her through her trials. He had confidence she would pass them all and become one of the few female Witchers.

“I’ll send word, James.”

One of the guards immediately left to fetch the scribe.

“I’ve seen you come back covered in blood. You’ve had to have worse than this.” James didn’t reply. “James?” The Witcher wasn’t moving and Angelo shook him, fear gripping his heart. “James! No!” Angelo’s shoulders slumped and he reached over and closed his golden cat-like eyes. “Goodbye, Great Uncle.”

Miles away, at Kaer Morhen, Juray gave a deep gasp and opened her eyes, their once bright blue now a golden yellow. She had passed the Trial of the Grasses at the moment James breathed his last breath.


	3. The White Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juray embarks on her first Contract

“I’m sure he would have wanted his daughter to have this,” Angelo said, placing the bag of gold into Vesemir’s hand. “He earned it.” James’ body had been placed on a travois, his hands folded over his chest.

“Do you have any idea what happened?”

Angelo shook his head. “Went after a striga. Opted to kill it instead of trying to lift the curse. Got him pretty bad. The wounds were pretty deep. To be honest, I didn’t think Witchers could be killed.”

“It takes a lot to kill us.” Vesemir turned to Angelo. “Thank you, Angelo.”

Angelo nodded as a little girl took his hand. “Papa, you promised to listen to me practice.”

“Of course, babycakes.” He looked back at Vesemir. “Give my sympathies to Juray, Master Witcher.”

“I shall.” Vesemir turned and mounted his horse, taking the reins of James’ and left.

~~~

“A striga did this?” Rennes asked.

“That’s what he was hunting,” Vesemir said. “Decided to kill it instead of cure it. You know they’re stronger the second time around.”

“I know.” Rennes turned around, rubbing his forehead. Several of the teachers and students had gathered around and a part of him was glad Juray wasn’t one of them. “Prepare his body for the funeral. And I need to tell Juray her mentor is dead.”

“I’ll do it.” The students parted to see who had volunteered as Geralt stepped forward. “I’ll tell her.”

“Geralt, you need to be preparing for your final trial. Leave Juray to me.”

“I’m as prepared as I’m going to be. Juray would rather hear it from a friend.”

“Geralt’s right,” Vesemir agreed. “It’s no secret you were against her training as one of us. She won’t believe it coming from you.”

“Fine.”

~~~

Juray stepped out of her quarters to find Geralt sitting on the railing of the walkway. “Geralt?”

The teenager looked up and hopped off the railing. “How you feeling, Juray?”

“A bit like shit.” She looked around “Where’s James?”

“James was requested for a Contract. A striga.”

“When is he supposed to be back?”

“He didn’t make it.”

Juray looked at him, concern on her face. “What do you mean?”

Geralt moved away from the railing. “He killed the striga, but he didn’t survive the fight. I’m sorry, Juray, but James is dead.”

Juray just looked at Geralt, searching his face that this was a prank. But she could see it in his cat-like eyes that he spoke the truth. She just shook her head. “No.”

“I saw the body myself.”

“No. You’re lying, Geralt! He’s a Witcher! Nothing can kill a Witcher! Right?” The last was said with such a vulnerable tone that Geralt felt bad about volunteering to break the news to her.

“It happens sometimes. Witchers are long-lived, not immortal. It got past his defenses.”

Juray shook her head. “No.” Then she started to wail into his chest “No!” she screamed. “No! No! No!”

Geralt let her take her anger out on him until her legs went out on her. He wrapped his arms around her and went down with her, letting her mourn on his shoulder. Eskel and Berenger silently joined them as she sobbed.

**EIGHT YEARS LATER**

“You’ve passed all your trials and you have earned the right to be called a Witcher.” Rennes passed the chain of the Witcher medallion over her head, the wolf sitting against her chest. Vesemir then handed her the steel and silver swords of the Witcher and she strapped them to her back. “Welcome to the fold.”

As the other Witchers congratulated their new brothers and sister into the fold, Vesemir placed a hand on Juray’s shoulder. He had taken over as her mentor after James’ death. “Take good care of those swords. They were James’.”

“You gave me his swords?”

“And his medallion.”

She reached up and touched the wolf head.

“He would have been very proud of you, Juray.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I wish he could have seen me become a Witcher.”

“Look at you!” Geralt said with a grin. “Little sister is all grown up and can call herself a Witcher now.”

“Shut up, Geralt.”

Geralt gave a chuckle. “Now go out there and fuck up some monsters.”

“Geralt…,” Vesemir sighed as the Witchers around them laughed.

~~~

Vesemir traveled with Juray for her first couple of Contracts to make sure people would take her seriously before she headed onto the Path alone. It wasn’t long before she picked up a Contract for a monster terrorizing a small village in Riverdell, the kingdom of her birth and the surname she chose for herself. Juray set her sights on this village. She was met with stares when she arrived, but Juray ignored them, used to it already from her earlier Contracts with Vesemir. Not only because she was a Witcher, but because it was a rarity for a woman to be one. She’d heard the Cat School had a few, but she’d also heard they were more than professional monster hunters. She sought out the village elder, who had requested the Contract. The moment Juray saw the old man’s face, she knew who he was. She’d accepted a Contract to help her home village. Juray hid her annoyance at the fact as he greeted her.

“I’m here about the Contract,” she simply said.

“You are?” His voice betrayed his surprise.

“You’re looking for a Witcher. I’m a Witcher.”

“But you’re a woman.”

“Suit yourself.” Juray turned away, reaching for her horse’s reins.

“Wait. Please, Mistress Witcher. We need the help of anyone willing to face this creature. We’ve coin to reward you.”

Juray stopped, having counted on this reaction, before turning back to him. “What can you tell me?”

“It’s been going on for a couple weeks. We’re being punished, you see?”

Juray raised a brow. “Punished? For what?”

“For being the home of a cursed one.”

“And you want me to deal with the creature _and_ lift this curse?” Juray had a feeling she knew who this cursed one was.

“No, just the creature. I do not believe there is a way to lift the curse. The child spent too long among us and her curse passed to the village. We should have left her to die once we realized she was cursed.”

Juray sighed. “So you’re saying a child is the cause of this. Where is this child?”

“Dead for all I know. She was given to a stranger many years ago. But her evil and her curse seeped into the ground and had to have attracted this beast.”

“What do you know of it?” She had to resist doing bodily harm to the elder and actually do her job. “Has anyone seen it?”

“Some say they’ve seen a woman in the woods and not long afterward someone disappears. Talk to John. I think he may have seen what happened to Finn.”

“Finn?”

“He was the latest to disappear.”

Juray nodded as the elder indicated the direction of the witness.

John turned out to be a young teenager, his parents pushing him behind them when they saw Juray’s approach.

Juray sighed. “Need to talk to the kid if you don’t mind.”

“Why?” the mother asked.

“He’ll not talk to the likes of you,” the father snapped.

“I’m trying to find his friend, Finn. And since John here was the last one to see him, it’s important that I speak to him."

“He’ll not talk to you, freak.”

Juray sighed again, having a sick sense of déjà vu of her childhood. She moved her fingers in the shape of a triangle, casting Axii on the parents. “It’s quite important that I find Finn with John’s help.”

Axii took effect and the parents nodded, stepping away.

John looked at his parents and back to Juray. “How did you do that?”

“I can be quite persuasive. Tell me, when was the last time you saw Finn?”

“A few nights ago. He’d told me he met a girl and he was going to meet her at the edge of the wood. I tried to talk him out of it and I decided to follow him to talk him out of it. I hear this woman singing and I see Finn and this girl.”

“What did this girl look like?”

“Dark hair. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. She stops singing and takes Finn’s hand and they went off into the woods.”

Juray frowned. “The others that went missing? Were they boys too?”

“Yeah. Mostly unattached but there have been a few married men, too.”

“Have you been the only one that’s seen the woman?”

“There’s an orphan that lives in the elder’s barn. He doesn’t know she’s there, but me and Finn do. We’ve been bringing her food when we can.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone about her?”

“People around here don’t really like strangers. They only let you here because you’re a Witcher. Finn helps her because his sister died when he was little. Nobody talks about her and I don’t know why.” John pointed behind Juray. “It’s the biggest one in town. Her name is Charissa.”

“Thanks, John. I’ll find your friend.” Juray left and headed towards the barn.

She circled around, entering from the back of the barn, testing the plank that had been loose when she was a kid. It easily pushed open. “I see you still haven’t fixed that.”

She slipped in, a tighter squeeze than before, naturally, and her swords were nearly caught. Once inside, she delved into the sixth Witcher sense to find Charissa. Little footprints led to the ladder. Juray climbed the ladder and into the loft, crouching and looking around, the footprints led deeper into the barn and she could see the tiny form of a girl trying very hard to be still in a dark corner. “I’m not going to hurt you, Charissa.”

“How did you know my name?” a small voice asked.

“John told me. Said you could help me find Finn.”

“Finn’s dead. Like all the others.”

“How are you so sure?”

The little girl crawled towards her. “She takes them and they’re never seen again.”

“Have you seen this woman?”

Charissa nodded.

“What can you tell me?”

“She’s very pretty. She comes at night singing. If you’re outside when she sings, that’s how she gets you. You look for her every night. They wait for her at the fork. Then she leads you away into the woods and you’re never seen again. She has to kill them. That’s why they never come back.”

“Where're your parents?”

“They were killed by a monster. A Witcher killed the monster but it was too late for my parents. Aunty took me away, but I didn’t like her so I ran away from her and hid here. John and Finn were my only friends.”

Juray gave the girl some food. “Here. I know the boys give you food when they can. You look like it’s been a while since you ate.”

Charissa’s face brightened as she took the food. “Thank you! They say Witchers don’t care for nobody, but you’re awfully nice.”

“Let’s just say I know what it’s like to be hungry. Take care of yourself, Charissa.” Juray moved away from the little girl and back down the ladder.

Juray went to the fork in the road and used her Witcher senses to track where this mysterious woman was leading her victims away. She soon found footprints leading through the woods and followed them. Some were older, but she could see a set that was fresher, and she focused on those. She could feel a monster nearby and slowed, needing to figure out what she was dealing with. She could smell blood and decay. Scanning the area, she found several bodies lying nearby. She approached the bodies, several looked like they had been there a while and she was surprised ghouls hadn’t come and laid claim to them. The freshest body looked like it had been there for several weeks and she examined it.

“I have such a glamorous job,” she muttered. “Hmm, what’s this?” The body had several bites on his neck. “Beautiful, singing woman. All victims male. Bite marks. Blood. Seems this town attracted a bruxa. She won’t come out until sundown so I need to go back to the village and prepare.” Juray stood and headed back to the village.

Juray waited near the abandoned house as the sun dipped under the horizon, focusing her Witcher senses on the sounds around her until she heard footsteps. A door opened and she could hear the footsteps on the ground. Then the singing began.

_Wolves asleep amidst the trees_

_Bats all a swayin’ in the breeze_

_But one soul lies anxious wide awake_

_Fearing no manner of ghouls hags and wraith_

Juray silently stood next to a tree as the voice came closer, the soft footfalls slow, as if she were trying to appear human.

_For your dolly polly sleep has flown_

_Don’t dare let her tremble alone_

_For the Witcher Heartless cold_

_Paid in coin of gold_

_He comes he’ll go leave naught behind_

_But heartache and woe_

_Deep_

_Deep_

_Woe_

The bruxa stopped close to Juray and stopped singing. “I’ve never attracted a woman with my voice,” she said.

Juray hadn’t tried to hide, standing where she knew the bruxa would see her when she walked the path towards the village. “I take it you prefer to attract men.”

The bruxa turned towards Juray, a surprised look on her face. “Now you are not what I expected.”

“I actually get that a lot.”

The bruxa smiled. “Isn’t it a bit dangerous for a woman out in the world alone?”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“Do you really think a lone Witcher is a match for me?” the smile turned demented. “You’ll need to find me first.” The bruxa disappeared.

“I just love playing hide and seek,” Juray said, hearing the door to the abandoned house slam shut.

She headed to the house, popping the cork on the potion bottle before downing the liquid inside. A moment later, she gave a pained grunt as it went into effect. She shook her head to clear it before drawing her silver sword and pushing open the door. She could strongly sense the bruxa, the wolf head medallion vibrating on her chest. She kept her back against the wall as she heard whimpering to her right. Juray crept that way and saw an open door to the cellar. The bruxa sang again, her voice coming from the cellar.

_Birds are silent for the night_

_Cows turned in as daylight dies_

_But one soul lies anxious wide awake_

_Fearin’ no manner of ghouls hags and wraith_

Juray dropped into the lightless cellar, her night vision allowing her to see perfectly. Two figures were on the far side of the room and where the whimpering was coming from. Juray pulled a round glass bottle from her belt. The bruxa had stopped singing once Juray had dropped into the cellar. She then suddenly threw the bottle towards the ceiling, it exploding in a bright blue flash and littering the room in a fine blue dust. And making the bruxa’s invisible form visible. The bruxa screeched and came after Juray. The vocal attack caused Juray to stagger back. The bruxa used the momentary stun to leap at Juray. The Witcher swung her sword up, blocking the attack, much to the bruxa’s surprise. She screeched again, this time in pain as the vampire oil and the silver caused the wound to sizzle. Juray attacked and the bruxa defended herself with her claws. The bruxa finally decided to leap onto Juray, aiming to bite her neck. Juray twisted and the bruxa’s teeth sunk into her right shoulder. She gave a cry of pain as she felt the sharp teeth through her skin and the feel of the bruxa drinking the blood that seeped through. Juray threw her off her, pressing her hand against the wound.

“Mmm, I’ve always loved the taste of a fighter,” the bruxa said.

Juray smirked. “Do you now?”

The bruxa’s smile suddenly faded as her veins darkened and she started to cough and gag. “What… what have you done?”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to bite a Witcher?”

The bruxa fell to her knees, the Black Blood potion spreading.

“How does that song end again?” Juray walked towards her, the bruxa trying to scramble away. “Oh yes. As the Witcher, brave and bold, paid in coin of gold. She’ll chop and slice you, cut and dice you.” Juray raised her sword over the cornered bruxa. “Eat you up whole.” Juray brought the sword down, severing the monster’s head. “I’ll take this, though.” Juray stuffed the head into a bag, before casting Igni on the lamps in the room.

She turned towards the two figures on the other side of the room. The teenaged boy she assumed was Finn watched her wide-eyed. The man next to him looked weak. Both had their hands bound above them. Juray cut them free and Finn helped Juray carry the other man to freedom.

“Are you really a Witcher?” Finn asked as they carried the man between them through the woods.

“I am.”

“What was she?”

“A type of vampire called a bruxa. You’re lucky.”

“I know.”

“Let’s get you back home.”

“If you hadn’t killed the creature, he wouldn’t have lasted much longer,” the elder said as he walked with Juray to her horse. “The healers believe he’ll survive.”

“Good.”

The elder handed her a coin purse. “We thank you for your help. Hopefully, the curse that is in our village won’t attract another one.”

“The bruxa was preying on the other villages as well, judging by the amount of bodies I found. Your village is not cursed. It just happened to be one of the feeding grounds of bruxa.”

“You are sure there is no curse.”

“Witchers have a nose for these kinds of things. Have you not stopped to think that if your village was cursed because of that child, you would have had trouble before now?”

The elder’s brows knit together. “I see your point.”

Juray mounted her horse, preparing to leave the village.

“Mistress Witcher!”

Juray turned in the saddle to see John and Finn coming towards her. To her surprise, her parents were following behind them.

“You found him,” John said. “Like you promised.”

“Of course.” She looked at Finn as her parents placed their hands on his shoulders. “Now, Finn, don’t go chasing after mysterious women you meet in the woods anymore.”

Finn gave a laugh. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

Juray picked up the reins.

“You saved our boy, Mistress Witcher,” her father said. “How can we ever repay you?”

“Keep him out of trouble. And perhaps tell him the truth about his sister.”

“You know about that?”

“I know.”

“What is your name?” her mother asked. “We shall tell everyone how you saved us all.”

Juray stopped, having expected that her parents wouldn’t recognize her. She looked back at them before giving a smirk.

“The White Demon,” she said before urging her horse into a canter, leaving her parents and the elder to stare after her slack-jawed and without any doubts on who she was.


	4. The Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juray discovers unique abilities and a secret of James'

“Hey, Juray!” Eskel called. “Got some more love letters.” He waved a couple of letters above Juray’s head. Her first year on the Path had been profitable and she wintered at Kaer Morhen.

“Give me those!” She snatched them from Eskel’s hand. “Probably from Angelo. You’d think I was related to him the way he acts.”

“Heard he used to do the same thing to James.”

“He found out I was his surprise child and a Witcher now and is starting to send Contracts my way.” She broke Angelo’s seal and read the congratulatory message he’d sent for her first year on the Path. The second letter was only sealed with wax, no insignia to tell her who it came from. She broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

_I’m not sure you remember me, but you saved me from a bruxa several months ago. You called yourself the White Demon and I didn’t understand the reactions of my parents and the village elder at the name. I also heard you tell my parents to tell me the truth about my sister. But they refused to mention her for a good while, despite my pestering them about. See, I knew I had an older sister from the other villagers but my folks would only tell me that she died when she was a child._

_I finally learned the truth._

_My parents hated my sister, swore to me that she was cursed because of the moon of her birth, convinced that the bruxa was a punishment for that curse. They finally admitted to giving her to a Witcher. I also asked around to discover what the significance of the name you gave. Most refused to speak of it, but I finally discovered the truth about my sister. I’m convinced that you are the sister that left with the Witcher all those years ago. If I am wrong, I apologize, but I need to get this off my chest. I will forever be grateful that you put aside any anger you had with how our parents treated you and abandoning you to the Witchers to save us from the bruxa. I am alive because of you and no amount of moon curses will convince me that you are evil. Thank you from the bottom of my heart._

_Your brother, Finn_

Juray folded the letter, taken by surprise.

“You okay?” Eskel asked.

“It’s from my brother.”

“Wait, you remember your family? I thought the Grasses erased that.”

“It didn’t with me.”

“And Lambert,” Geralt added, setting mugs in front of Juray and Eskel. “He still remembers, too.”

“Oh joy. Something I have in common with him.”

“What’s this about moon curses?” Eskel asked.

Juray snatched the letter out of his hand. “Who said you could read my letters?”

Eskel raised his hands in surrender as Geralt gave a chuckle.

Juray then raised a strand of her hair. “They thought I was cursed because of this.”

“Geralt must be cursed too then.”

“Hey, this wasn’t because I was born with it,” Geralt argued, motioning to his own white locks.

“Apparently, in my village, being born under the first full moon of winter made you cursed. But I’ve noticed something out in the field. I keep sensing monsters and magic before my medallion does.”

“That’s helpful.”

“What if this isn’t a moon curse, but some sort of blessing. That I was literally born to become a Witcher.”

“I won’t argue that,” Eskel commented.

“It’s a sound theory,” Geralt added. “Maybe we can talk to Vesemir about his. He’s one of the oldest Witchers still alive. Maybe he knows about this or where we could find answers for you.”

Juray smiled. “This is why the two of you are my brothers.”

~~~

“Juray, could I speak with you?” Vesemir asked as she prepared to head out onto her Path.

“Sure.”

“I know Angelo has started passing contracts your way like he did with James.”

“Angelo is under the impression that James was my father. Which he technically was.”

“I know. But there was a reason he would only work with James and I think you should know that reason.” Juray wasn’t surprised that Vesemir knew the reason. “When James was a child, a Witcher saved his father and when given any boon he wanted. Yet he enacted the law of surprise, demanding the first thing to greet him. His eldest son was the first to greet him, young James. So he came here, went through Witcher training.”

“What does this story have to do with Angelo?”

“Angelo’s grandfather was James’ younger brother. Most of the boys lose their memories of their lives before coming to Kaer Morhen during the Grasses. James was no exception. But apparently his family kept tabs on him and when Angelo inherited the lands, he made sure to pass along any Contract to James. Now he’s passing them on to you because he’s under the impression you’re his cousin. James referred to you as his daughter and Angelo picked up on that. That’s why he insisted that you have the coin he earned on the Contract that killed him.”

“Makes sense, actually.”

“Just be prepared to clear out Drowners on a regular basis.”

Juray chuckled and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be an expert at them in no time.”

“Good luck on the Path, Juray.”

“And to you.”

Juray embraced her life as a Witcher, the name she’d given her village sticking and making a name for herself as The White Demon. The name she stopped fighting and embraced, namely because of her fighting style. Over the years, Juray learned more about her so-called curse, a fluke of birth that made her more sensitive to magic and the monsters that inhabited the Continent and seeming to enhance her Witcher abilities. But her and Geralt’s stories went their separate ways for many years, intersecting time and again, before her friend and brother was killed during a pogram, only to reappear years later with amnesia. But that tale is for another time…

Our tale begins seventy-four years after Juray earned her right to call herself a Witcher. And it all began with a sorceress, a prophecy, and the dreaded Wild Hunt.


	5. White Orchard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Vesemir arrive at a sleepy village in search of Yennefer

Geralt bolted upright, the Wild Hunt once again invading his dreams. The very reason he had previously lost his memory. It had been a nice dream at first, a dream of little Ciri, the girl he had raised and saw as a daughter, training at Kaer Morhen with him and the handful of the others of the Wolf School who were still alive. He and Vesemir had been tracking Yennefer, the younger Witcher having received a letter to meet her in Willoughby, but when they arrived the town was in ruins, prompting the two to follow her trail. Vesemir, who was already awake, watched as Geralt stood and walked over the fire, sitting on a stump and throwing a stick into the fire before leaning his arms against his legs.

“You alright?” he asked.

Geralt gave a grunt. “Had a nightmare.”

“About?” Vesemir was the oldest surviving Witcher on the Continent. He’d mentored every single living Witcher of the Wolf School, raising Geralt himself. So it was no surprise to the White Wolf that Vesemir acted fatherly towards him.

“Take forever to explain.”

Vesemir gave a sigh before looking towards the east. “Dawn’s some way off. We’ve got time.”

Geralt didn’t move as he watched the flames dance. “Started in the guest room at Kaer Morhen, I was relaxing in the tub and next to me…” he trailed off.

“Triss?” Vesemir prompted, naming off the red-haired sorceress Geralt had shared his heart and bed with for several years.

“Yennefer. Funny, isn’t it? She’s never been there. Seemed so real in my dream, though.”

“Was she nagging you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“True to life indeed. We’ll find her.”

Geralt had shared much more with Yennefer than he had with Triss, having known the raven-haired sorceress for decades. Vesemir knew the reason that Geralt had lost his memory was saving her from the Wild Hunt. She was rescued but he disappeared, turning up several years later in the forests around Kaer Morhen and found by his fellow Witchers with no idea who he was. He’d recently regained those memories, much to the relief of his friends.

“I know we will. That’s not what worries me. You’ve seen her tracks. She’s at full gallop all the time, breakneck speed through wildlands, devastated battlefields…” Geralt looked over at his mentor. “She’s in a hurry to get somewhere, or fleeing something.” He looked back at the fire. “Either way, it means trouble of some sort.”

“Be surprised if she wasn’t in trouble. She’s always poked her nose into beehives. Courtly intrigues here, mage’s conspiracies there. What do you expect?”

“Don’t know. Guess I thought, once we were finally reunited, things would be calm. At least for a while.”

Vesemir looked at Geralt like he’d completely lost his mind. “Calm? With Yennefer?” He scoffed. “Good luck.”

Geralt brought the conversation back to his dream. “In the dream, I went and found Ciri, then we trained.”

“Those were the days,” Vesemir sighed. “Little she-devil. Trained kids who were faster, stronger, but none had her character. Although I’ll dare say, Juray’s bad influence helped with that.” Vesemir looked back at Geralt when he didn’t respond. The mention of the younger Witcher usually elected some sort of response out of Geralt, as the two had been close. “Didn’t end well, did it? Your dream?”

Geralt shook his head. “No. The Wild Hunt appeared, attacked Ciri. I couldn’t move. Stood there like a stump.”

Vesemir understood then why Geralt had acted the way he had upon waking. “It was just a dream,” he assured him.

“That’s the problem. It was more. In the past, when Ciri’d appear in my dreams, something was wrong. She was in danger.”

“We taught her how to defend herself from anything, wraiths included.”

Geralt looked up as the sun’s rays began to lighten the sky. “Be dawning soon. Time to go.”

Vesemir sighed as he stood, feeling as ancient as he was, as Geralt headed over to the horses. “Wait. Show me the letter from Yennefer. Might’ve overlooked some hint there.”

“Didn’t overlook anything,” Geralt said gruffly as he buckled the straps of his swords into place. “We were meant to meet in Willoughby. That’s what she wrote. Meanwhile, one army or another burned the village to the ground.” Geralt sounded annoyed by this. “All we can do is follow her trail, so…”

“Stop talking for a minute and give me the letter. Gods, I think I liked it better when you were the grouchy silent type.” Geralt gave him a look, but handed him the letter. “Well, how about that!” he added as he opened it. “It does smell of lilac and gooseberry.”

“I thought you were gonna read it, not sniff it.”

Vesemir gave him a look before actually reading the letter. “ _We must meet. Soon_.” He read aloud. “ _Willoughby. Near Vizima._ Hmm. Nothing else to guide us there.”

“Happy now?”

“What’s this postscript? _I still have the unicorn._ ”

“You don’t want to know. It’s… very private.”

Vesemir gave a laugh. “I understand. At least I think I do.”

Geralt sighed and took the letter, returning it to the pack at the back of his belt.

“Maybe not entirely.”

“Mhm.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Back on topic. How far behind Yennefer do you think we are?”

“Two or three days. The trail’s fresh, but it looks like it heads towards the main road. Could get muddled there.”

Geralt turned his head, the smell of rotting flesh reaching his nose. Along with his wolf’s head medallion trembling on his chest. The two Witchers turned as the horses nickered.

“You hear that?”

“I smell it,” Geralt said as he drew his silver sword. “Ghouls.”

Four of the monsters charged at them. Humanoid in appearance, they looked and smelled like rotting corpses that ran on all fours, with large maws that would tear flesh from bone and claws equally as dangerous. The two Witchers easily dispatched the creatures.

“Of course,” Vesemir grouched. “When armies pass, necrophages follow. Let’s go before more show up.” The two mounted and Vesemir led the way.

“Did I ever tell you about a sorcerer I knew?” Geralt asked as they rode together. “Couldn’t stop talking about how useful they are as creatures.”

“Because you can brew potions from their blood?”

Geralt gave a scoff of a laugh. “No. Because by eating rotting corpses they prevent epidemics.”

Vesemir scoffed. “Did he know they eat the living as well?”

“No. Really upset him too. His theory collapsed.”

“What did he expect?”

“Well, it’s what he got for bringing that theory to a Witcher.” They rode in silence for a little while until they passed through a ransacked village.

“War’s not exactly going our way.”

“We have a side?” Geralt questioned.

“The Northern Realms.”

“Radovid’s Realms, don’t you mean? Temeria and Aedirn are no more.”

“Radovid’s pledged to restore the old borders. Soon as he wins the war.”

“Believe that?”

Vesemir grunted. “Gotta believe something. It’s what keeps us going.”

Geralt scoffed as they approached a bridge, his medallion suddenly warning him of a nearby monster by violently dancing on his chest. “Vesemir.”

“Mine too. Big one.”

They could hear the creature screeching and someone screaming for help. Geralt urged his horse into a gallop, Vesemir right behind him. They came upon an overturned cart, a screaming merchant trying to hide from it, and a large griffin, a creature with the body of a lion and head, wings, and talons of an eagle, feeding on a dead horse. Geralt did an emergency dismount and charged at the griffin, leaping at it as it rose into the air and managing to slice into its chest with his silver sword. It went out of reach before wheeling around and diving towards them. Geralt dodged and Vesemir gave a cry of pain. The griffin went back into the air before wheeling around and heading back toward them. It overshot Geralt and grabbed the dead horse, before flying away with its meal. Geralt scowled as he sheathed his sword and turned to see Vesemir with a hand pressed against his shoulder from where a talon had breached his armor. He immediately gave his mentor a concerned look. Once Vesemir realized that Geralt had noticed, he waved him off.

“Has- has it gone?” the merchant asked.

Geralt turned his head toward the overturned cart. “Yeah. Come out.”

The merchant came out and looked at his saviors, immediately realizing they were Witchers. “Gods, that was close. I was sure I’d end up like my mare.”

“Provided you got lucky,” Vesemir said.

“Your horse died quickly,” Geralt added. “Griffins like to toy with their prey. Eat it alive, piece by piece.”

The merchant’s eyes widened and he nodded. “You’d… you’d like a reward, I suppose?”

Geralt shook his head. “You don’t owe us anything.”

Vesemir glanced over at him.

“You were in need, we helped.”

The merchant looked surprised. “And they call Witchers heartless. Say they won’t lift a finger without pay.”

“They also say mice are born of rotting straw.”

The merchant gave an agreeable nod before turning back to his cart and Geralt turned to Vesemir.

“Back to the trail?” The White Wolf asked.

“Like I said, leads to the main road and ends there. Muddled.”

“You seek someone?” the merchant asked.

“Yes, a woman,” Geralt answered. “Medium height, long black hair. Seen anyone like that?”

“No, but… there’s an inn in White Orchard. Sole one around. Gets its share of travelers, perhaps you’ll learn something there. Besides, the innkeeper’s my cousin. Tell her Bram sent you, she’ll treat you like family.”

“Not a bad idea.” He looked over at Vesemir. “Especially since that wound needs cleaning.”

“Bah!” Vesemir waved his hand. “Beast barely grazed me. But sure… could use some rye. Nice and cool, you know, straight from a cellar?”

An amused look entered Geralt’s eye. “Let’s go.”

Vesemir and Geralt headed towards White Orchard.

“A griffin this close to the village?” Geralt said. “Strange.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Vesemir agreed. “In a forest or a mountain, sure, but here? And near the main road?”

“Maybe it’s the war? Corpses everywhere, the stench of blood, burnt flesh… drives monsters crazy sometimes.”

“Men, too. We need to watch ourselves in White Orchard. And we should leave as soon as we learn anything.”

“Agreed.”

The two dismounted at the inn and went inside. All eyes immediately went to them. They ignored it, used to the stares they always received.

“Witchers?” a man said, surprised. “Didn’t one just leave?”

Vesemir and Geralt headed towards the bar to speak to the innkeeper.

“I’ll not drink with weevil-arsed freaks,” another said as they passed.

Geralt stopped and looked over his shoulder at him before moving on.

“Beg your pardon for those thugs,” the innkeeper said, an older woman that looked to be the same age as Vesemir appeared.

“No need,” the elder Witcher said. “We’re used to it.”

“Folk are jumpy round here. Armies just passed through, now a griffin’s prowlin’ about.”

“Mhm,” Geralt said. “Already had the pleasure. Ran into your kinsman, Bram.”

“Bram? How is he?”

“Alive,” Vesemir said. “Sends his regards.”

“Master Witchers, food and drink on the house. What can I get you?”

“Looking for a woman,” Geralt said. “Raven-haired, violet eyes. Dresses in black and white. Riding in from Willoughby. And, uh, strange as it sounds… lilac and gooseberries, might’ve smelled that.”

“I’ve not seen nor smelt such a lady. Believe I’d remember. Had you said it was a snowed haired lady, aye.”

“Snow haired lady? Another Witcher?”

The innkeeper nodded. “Aye, took out a noonwraith in the abandoned village up the hill. Pity she moved on before the griffin showed.”

“There a Contract on it?”

“Nay, not at the moment. Used to be, as soon as a beast’d build a nest nearby, the ealdorman’d start a collection, or go to the lord for help. Now the ealdorman don’t use the privy without askin’ the Black Ones’ permission first. And seems they hanged the lord, so no Contract.”

“Shame,” Vesemir said. “We might have done something, but not for free.”

“We get a lot of travelers, so maybe someone else saw your lady. Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“Thanks.”

Vesemir went and claimed a table in the corner.

“Need help bandaging that up?”

Vesemir waved him off. “Please. I’m not decrepit yet.”

“Then I’ll ask around about Yennefer.”

“Be careful. Don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

“Yes, Uncle Vesemir.”

“Get outta here, Wolf.”

Geralt was largely ignored by the patrons, a group of three making a show of leaving and one muttering about freaks ruining his day. Geralt noticed that a bald-headed man had been watching his every move and upon noticing Geralt’s eyes upon him, he motioned for the Witcher to join him.

“Looking for a woman,” Geralt said upon sitting.

“Ahh, like everyone,” the man replied.

“Not like everyone. And not just any woman. Mine smells of lilac and gooseberries, dresses in black and white.”

The man waved at the innkeeper. “Two schnappses.”

She nodded and went to retrieve the drinks.

“It’ll lift your spirits.”

“Fine, I’ll have a drink.” This seemed to please the man. “Can we cut to the chase? You seen her or not?”

“Yennefer of Vengerburg?”

Geralt looked at him, surprised, as the innkeeper set their drinks on the table. After she left, Geralt answered, “I never mentioned her name.”

“Yet you described her perfectly. And once I hear something, I never forget. I can’t help it.”

“What do you do? Who are you?”

“A mangy vagrant,” he answered with a smile. “Gaunter O’Dimm, at your service.”

“Vagrant. That a profession now?”

“I was once a merchant of mirrors. The madding crowd dubbed me Master Mirror, or the Man of Glass.”

“How do you know Yennefer?”

“What a question! Master Dandelion’s ballads, of course!”

Geralt gave a sigh at the mention of the one man that knew him better than anyone. His closest friend also happened to be a bard that liked to embellish the stories he told of Geralt’s many misadventures.

“The only way a humble merchant might hope to rub up against greatness. Unless, that is, he’s as lucky as I am.”

“And runs into a very patient Witcher.”

“Into Geralt of Rivia himself. The Butcher of Blaviken.”

Geralt hated that name, given to him after he’d received word of the plans of a group of bandits to slaughter an entire town in order to draw a mage from his tower. Unfortunately, upon stopping them and with the town being oblivious of the plan, it looked like he’d killed them without cause and the name had followed him around ever since.

“Recognize me from Master Dandelion’s ballads, too?”

Gaunter picked up his mug and held it up. “To your health.” He tipped the drink back and Geralt did the same.

“You seen Yennefer?”

“Deepest apologies, but I must ask: is this about love?”

“That’s between me and her.”

“Yes, as a vagrant, I deserve no explanation.”

“What do you know? Tell me.”

“Before you appeared, it never occurred to me that it could have been Yennefer. Who would’ve thought…”

“Get to the point,” Geralt all but growled, his patience with Gaunter beginning to thin.

“A Nilfgaardian scout from the local garrison saw her.”

“Where?”

“At their camp. She rode in there, dark of night, black and white, gooseberries…”

Geralt leveled a look at him.

“Yes, I know. Had a terse exchange with the garrison commander and raced off.”

“Where to?”

“I’m not omniscient. Ask at the garrison.”

“Thanks.”

“Your friend, The White Demon, also passed through here a few weeks ago. Think she was heading to Valen herself. At first thought maybe you were looking for her until you described Yennefer to me.”

“I’ve heard she was here, but no, I’m not looking for her.”

Gaunter stood. “We men of the road must stick together. Perhaps one day, I’ll be in trouble and you’ll be nearby to help.” Gaunter left the inn and Geralt headed over to Vesemir, who was spending more time tending to the mug in front of him than the wound on his shoulder.

“Heading to the garrison. Heard Yennefer spoke to the commander. Might also see if he’s willing to pay for us to do something about the griffin.”

“Let’s hope so. Really hate to leave that here.”

As Geralt stepped out of the inn, he was met by the men that had loudly complained about the Witchers’ presence.

“Done drinkin’?” one asked.

Geralt took the three in. “Mhm.”

“Then fuck off!”

Another spit at him. “Don’t want your kind here.”

From the window of the inn, the innkeeper watched horrified, having a bad feeling that things would end badly for someone.

With a practiced hand, Geralt cast Axii. “I haven’t done anything to you. So just calm down.”

Unfortunately, the Sign only latched onto one of the men. “Course not… nay, uh… ye done nothing yet…”

“Whoreson’s working witchcraft!” one of the other men, a tattoo-covered thug, cried. “Get him!”

Geralt gave a sigh as two of them rushed him. He took a step to the side and sent one man into the side of the inn, stunning him and gave a punch to the side of the head to the other man.

“You two done?” Both were groaning on the ground. “Good. Cause I got things to do.” He walked over to Roach, his bay mare, and mounted her, turning and heading towards the Nilfgaardian garrison.


	6. To Hunt a Griffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt accepts a Contract on the griffin.

Geralt tied off his horse and headed towards the gates of the garrison. He was stopped by two guards.

“Military camp,” one said. “No locals allowed without the express consent of the garrison commander.”

Geralt just looked at him. “I look like a local to you?”

“You look like trouble,” the other said.

“Dead wrong. I make trouble go away. I’m a Witcher.”

The guards suddenly changed their tune with Geralt.

“A Witcher…” The guards looked at each other. “Captain Peter Saar Gwynleve is in the tower. Turn right, past the gate.”

“Huh, you Black Ones aren’t so scary after all,” Geralt’s sarcasm got the better of him. “Can even be nice if you want to.”

“Don’t get accustomed, Nordling.” He pushed to gate open and let Geralt pass.

He headed to the tower, ignoring the stares. He went into the tower to find the commander speaking to a local farmer. “How much grain will your village give?” he asked.

“Whatever you say, Your Excellency.”

Peter stood and held his hands out. “Look at my hands. Look! See the calluses?”

The farmer nodded.

“These are not the hands of an ‘Excellency’, but of a farmer.”

Geralt leaned against the wall to wait them out.

“So we speak peasant to peasant. How much can you give?”

“Forty bushels. There’d be more, sir, but our lads, the Temarians that is, took from us earlier and…”

Peter held his hand up. “You will give thirty and that will do. Let us settle on it. And I wish to see the transport soon.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you kindly!” The farmer left and Peter turned his attention to Geralt.

“I summoned only the ealdorman and the smith, Willis, but it is said he’s a dwarf. You are too tall to be him.”

“Very perceptive of you.”

Peter didn’t respond.

“Geralt of Rivia. Witcher.”

“A vatt’ghern. That explains why I did not hear your footsteps. What do you seek here?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. Where was she headed?”

“That is a military secret.”

Geralt could tell he was struggling with the Common Tongue. “Haven’t thrown me out. Haven’t called the guards. So go ahead. What’s your price?”

“There is a griffin in the area. Slay it, and then I will see what I can do.”

“It’s a deal. Some questions before I start. Know where the griffin has its lair?”

Peter motioned to the map on his desk. “It kept to the Vulpine Woods at first. I sent a patrol there, five young men. A hunter found them two days on. I only recognized them because they wore our plate. Since then, the griffin has grown bold. Attacks on villagers, fields, the main road.”

“Meaning it’s abandoned its lair. Gonna have to set a trap.”

“I judge from your tone this will not be easy. What do you require?”

“Need more information on this griffin. Its sex, why it abandoned its lair.”

“Shall I bring you witnesses?”

“They won’t say anything I don’t already know. I need to go where your men died, look around. What’s the name of the hunter who found him?”

“Mislav. He has a hut south of the village, very near the wood. Helpful fellow. A little strange though.”

“I’ll also need bait, a specific herb. Buckthorn. Scent should lure the griffin from ten miles off.”

“Buck… buckthorn?” Peter said the word as if it was a new one he’d never heard. “I do not know this. But I am not yet fluent in the Common Tongue.”

“Probably mastered the basics, though.” He then mimicked the Nilfgaardian accent. “‘Hands up’, ‘kill them’…”

“No, first came idioms. ‘Don’t play with fire.’ For example. Go to Tomira, an herbalist. She lives near the crossroads. She will aid you.”

“Tomira. Mislav. Thanks.”

Peter said something in his native tongue. Geralt knew enough Nilfgaardian to know he’d wished him luck.

Geralt decided to speak to Mislav first and headed to his hut. Upon arriving, Geralt saw the hunter wasn’t home. Using his Witcher Senses, Geralt tracked him through the forest behind his home. Mislav was crouched, studying some tracks.

“You Mislav?” the Witcher asked.

Mislav held his hand up. “Shh. Hear that?” he asked as howls sounded.

“Wolves,” Geralt said after a moment. “No, wild dogs.”

Mislav stood. “Yes, more dangerous than wolves.”

“I’m hunting bigger game. The Nilfgaardians the griffin killed, where’d you find them?”

“Ah, I see. You a Witcher? The monster slayer they’s talking about in the village?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll show you, sure. But I gotta kill those mutts ‘fore they hurt someone. Will you help? That is, if you don’t mind bluntin’ your silver sword on ‘em.”

“Sure. Griffin’s not going anywhere.”

“No, dogs might though. So step careful now.” He turned away from Geralt. “Come on.”

Together the two tracked the dogs.

“These dogs been a problem for a while now?”

“Since the war started. Soldier on the march, he’ll stop to rape a woman, strangle ‘er, kill her man for a chuckle, even butcher a cow. But a dog? A kick in passin’, no more. So these stray mutts form packs. They’re gaunt, guts stuck to their spines, covered in scabies, but they just won’t die. Cause they’re clever. More so than foxes. And they hate men something fierce.”

They heard a man’s scream and Geralt drew his steel sword. The two men ran toward the scream and found the pack.

“Too late. Attacked another one.”

The two quickly killed the dogs and Mislav knelt next to the body. The man was torn to shreds and Geralt guessed he’d bled out before they’d reached him.

“Dieter,” Mislav said, sadly.

“You know him?”

Mislav stood. “We served at the lord’s manor together, where the black army’s encamped now. He was a stable hand. I was the lord’s hunter. But that was before… well, a long time ago.”

“Before what?”

“Before they drove me from the village.”

“What’d you do?”

“Nothin’. I’m a freak.”

Geralt only raised a brow.

“Sorry, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Geralt valued privacy as much as the next man and knew this was a story the hunter would rather keep to himself. “You don’t have to, then.”

Mislav gave him a grateful look. “Can you show me where you found the Nilfgaardians?”

“Yeah, follow me.” Mislav led the way with Geralt following.

“Griffin. Know anything about it?”

“No, not much. Not my kind of game.”

“You’re his kind, though. Survival instinct alone oughta make you care.”

“I walk silent through the wood. No griffin can hear or spy me.”

It didn’t take long for Mislav to guide Geralt to the scene, the strong scent of blood reaching the Witcher’s nose before their arrival.

“‘Twas here.” Mislav motioned around them. “One lay there, by that stump, headless. The other hung from a branch, guts splayed, stretching down to…” Mislav cut off and turned back to Geralt. “Watch out for yourself, now.”

“I’ll be fine. Not the first Griffin I’ve dealt with. Not likely to be my last, either.”

“Hope you’re right. Good huntin’, now.”

Geralt nodded and Mislav left to let him work. Geralt used his Witcher Senses to look around, kneeling next to a large black area with the strong scent of blood.

“Ground’s saturated,” he said, thinking out loud. Nearby lay several bottles. “Nilfgaardians were celebrating. Griffin crashed the party.” He looked around, trying to determine what they were celebrating until he came across heavy boot prints. “These prints are older. Deeper. Heavily armored. Nilfgaardian, no doubt.” Geralt followed the tracks deeper into the forest until he found a destroyed griffin nest, along with a dead one. He knelt next to the griffin and examined it. “Female. Larvae in her wounds have already hatched. Been dead at least a week. Other griffin must be male.” He examined the wounds. “Deep cuts over the body, but not a drop of blood on the beak or claws. Didn’t defend herself. They must have attacked while she was sleeping.” He turned his attention back to the griffin as a whole. “Beak tips worn, grey hairs in the fur. Ten, twelve years old. Griffins pair off for life when young. The male must be the same age.” He plucked a feather from the wing. “Thick shaft, dense barbs. Of course, it had to be a royal griffin.” He stood. “Explains why the male was so aggressive. Hunted the Nilfgaardians first, then started prowling the area. Innkeeper said Juray was long gone by this time. Doubt she would have left an aggressive royal griffin to ravage the area.” He shook his head. “The Nilfgaardians probably thought they were being clever by killing a sleeping griffin. Naturally, they didn’t think about pissing off her mate.” He sighed, giving a grunt as he stood. “Amateur mistake that got them killed.” He turned away. “Gotta go find Tomira and talk to her about the buckthorn.”

Tomira’s hut was situated not far from a crossroads and wasn’t hard to find, as it had several gardens around it full of herbs used in alchemy. Geralt opened the door to find a woman with wavy black hair and form-fitting dark red pants with her back to the door, working on something.

“Bad time?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said. She pointed to her right. “Hand me the beggertick.”

Geralt moved over to her herbs and picked up the plant she wanted. “It’s the…” He handed it to her and her voice turned surprised as she finished her sentence. “Red bloom. Well, well. Someone versed in herbs.” Tomira looked up at Geralt, not even reacting to the fact that he was a Witcher like most people did.

“Probably saying too much… but I know a bit. For instance, that beggertick’s poisonous.”

“In large doses. Small doses soothe pain and bring forth pleasant dreams. Which is all I can do for her.” Tomira motioned to a woman lying on the cot nearby. She had bandages around her torso and looked like she’d been on the losing end of a fight.

“Griffin do that to her?”

“To Lena? Yes. Attacked her at night. She was walking in the woods.”

“At night… through the woods? In wartime?”

“Meeting a boy. The young, you know… do foolish things for love.” Tomira sounded like she related to her own statement. Geralt nodded, also relating to it. “Wounds are healing, but she’ll die. Blood’s pooling in her skull. Nothing my brews can do to help.”

Geralt looked over at Lena. She had to be no more than 20. If that. He looked back at Tomira. “I could try to help her with one of my potions. Swallow can heal internal hemorrhages…”

“But?”

“Witchers’ potions aren’t for humans.”

“She’ll die as it is.”

“Yes, a peaceful death, soothed by your concoctions. If I give her Swallow and something goes wrong, the whole village will hear her screams.”

“I understand. Do as you will.”

“I’m looking for buckthorn. Know if it grows anywhere around here?”

“Bottom of the river, where the channels the widest. But you do know once out of the water…”

“It’ll stink worse than a week-old carcass? Counting on it. I’m hunting the griffin. Need the buckthorn for bait.”

“I was thinking… A few years ago, we had trouble, drowners under the bridge. Whole village had to pitch in for a Witcher. Who now can afford the bounty on a griffin’s head?”

“Captain Peter Saar…,” Geralt paused, trying to remember the man’s last name. “Something something.”

“Ah. Good to know the Black Ones are looking out for our welfare.” Geralt could hear the sarcasm dripping off her tongue.

“Doubt Emperor Emhyr cares about you, but this captain just might. Seems like a decent man.”

“There are no decent men in the army. There’s only orders.”

“Not from here, are you?” Tomira just looked at him. “Lot of bitterness in you. Too much for someone who’s spent her life in a hut in the middle of nowhere.”

“True,” Tomira admitted. “And you’re in a hurry. Elsewise, you’d not use bait, just wait for the griffin to attack again.”

“Believe we could have an interesting conversation.”

“Maybe next time.”

Geralt turned to leave, then stopped, looking over at Lena. Most of the other Witchers would have just left Lena to her fate, but Geralt couldn’t. He reached into the pack he kept his potions in and pulled out a small bottle of a red liquid and turned back to Tomira. “Here. Give Swallow to Lena.”

“First sign of spring, symbol of rebirth… Fitting as names go.”

“We’ll see. Like I said, could harm her. Deeply. Works on me immediately, but I have a faster metabolism. Effects won’t appear in her case for a few days.”

Tomira took the bottle from Geralt, before looking back up at him. “Why’d you chose this in the end?”

“Decided it was better than doing nothing.”

“I like you, Witcher. Here,” she turned and picked up a couple of small bags and Geralt heard the jingle of a few coins and could smell a mixture of various herbs in them. “A small gift. For giving a damn.”

Geralt nodded. “I’ll try to check in on her before I leave if I can. Farewell.”


	7. Griffins and Squirrels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Vesemir hunt the griffin. Juray tracks a monster near Oxenfort

After diving into the river to retrieve the buckthorn, Geralt headed back to the inn to find Vesemir. It was dark when he returned to their meeting place.

Vesemir was standing outside the inn speaking with a local. “Whose field is that on the other side of the river?”

“By the wood? Boyan Klimmick. Good lad, Master Witcher, though he…”

“Yes, yes.”

Geralt dismounted.

“This Boyan, will he venture to inspect his grain any time soon?”

“What for? Harvest is a long way off yet.”

“Good. Thank you.”

The villager walked off as Geralt joined Vesemir.

“What was that about?”

“Take you this long to talk to the commander about where Yennefer is?”

“Got good news and bad news. Good news first, captain of the Nilfgaardian garrison knows where Yennefer went.”

“And the bad is we gotta kill the griffin for him. What else could he want from two Witchers? What do you know? Since I know you’ve been figuring out what we’re dealing with.”

“Griffin’s abandoned its lair. Gotta make a lure, set a trap.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Learned some things. Griffin’s male, had its nest in the Vulpine Woods. The Nilfgaardians burned the woods, killed its mate, smashed their eggs. Thought they fixed things.” Geralt was pretty sure Vesemir rolled his eyes so hard he saw his own brain.

“It’s always the same. Instead of sending for a professional, they try to do it themselves, only end up making matters worse. Hell, Juray was just here. They could have asked her to take care of it.”

Geralt shrugged. “Got buckthorn.”

“Outta work like a charm. Powerful scent.”

“More like stench.”

“City boy. Rotting meat, manure, piss, standard smells of the countryside.” Vesemir smirked. “Remember Tretogor, hunting that zeugl in the trash heap? You spent half the next day bathing, scrubbing yourself.”

Geralt sighed. Vesemir seemed to love bringing that Contract up. More so when the younger Witcher had amnesia. “How can I forget? You ever gonna stop bringing that up?”

Vesemir snorted, remembering that Geralt had regained those memories and his fun with that was over. “Fine, if everything’s ready, say the word and we’ll get to work.”

“No point in waiting. Let’s find a good spot to ambush it.”

“Picked one out already. Other side of the steam there’s a field and a grove. Plenty of room and far enough so no one will get in our way.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Vesemir and Geralt rode to the field Vesemir had scouted, a hastily made wooden sheep in the middle.

“A stream, amber waves of grain… charming place,” Geralt commented. “Perfect for an ambush.”

“I know how to pick ‘em,” Vesemir responded with an annoyed tone. “So, ready?”

“Wind’s good, bait’s scent will spread quickly.” Vesemir spread the buckthorn onto the sheep. “Now all we have to do is wait. It probably won’t show up until daybreak. We can cower in the shade of those birches.”

Geralt shook his head as they went to the trees to wait for the griffin to take the bait. “So, tell me, once we find Yennefer, what’ll you do? Got your eye on a Contract?”

“No, I’ll go to Kaer Morhen.”

“A little early to settle in for the winter.”

“Snows are a ways off, yes. And that’s what worries me.” Vesemir crouched down to make himself comfortable as they waited for the Griffin, Geralt following so he wouldn’t have to look down on his mentor. “Nilfgaard’s crossing the Pontar in the east. Puts them maybe a week’s march from Kaer Morhen. If they reach the valley before snows cover the passes…” He looked over at Geralt. “Well, we need to cover our tracks. Hide our paths.”

Geralt understood. Each side wanted the Witchers on their side, despite the renowned monster hunters being politically neutral for centuries, and despite Geralt taking jobs from royalty from time to time and the incident involving King Foltest’s assassination a few years earlier.

“Speaking of winter and wintering, think you’ll come this year?”

“Maybe. Might bring a guest.”

“Juray would be glad to see you. She tries to stay away from Lambert as much as she can, but sometimes I swear he seeks her out to start fights with her.”

“I heard the last time the two got into it, he almost ended up being thrown off the walls.

“Eskel tell you that?”

“Mhm.”

“I think he was ready to throw Lambert off the walls as well.”

Geralt grimaced and rearranged his position. “He’s never liked Juray for some reason.”

“Because she chose to become a Witcher. She thrived on the training. And Lambert hated that she was at peace with becoming one of us, while he still held onto so much bitterness for being a surprise child.”

“I think we all could learn from Juray. She has every right to be bitter and angry considering what James took her away from.”

Vesemir nodded. “Aye, you’re right. But I think she knew she wouldn’t survive childhood had she stayed. James saved her and she knows it.”

Geralt nodded in agreement and the two fell silent, watching for the griffin.

~~~

Juray crouched next to the looted supply wagon after being able to track it down. The bodies all belonged to Redania.

“Didn’t have a chance to defend themselves,” she said aloud. “Wounds suggest arrows and their attackers took them with them.”

An arrow suddenly embedded itself into the wood of the wagon, but Juray didn’t flinch. She glanced at the arrow before taking it.

“That was either a warning shot or you have bad aim, Scoia'tael.”

“Do you think you’re amusing, di’one?”

“Only to those with a sense of humor. I would like to talk to your commander.”

“I don’t trust you!”

“I’m sure you have an arrow trained at my back and I’m not prone to stupidity.”

“Disarm, then. Hand me your weapons and I’ll take you to Vernossiel.”

Juray reached up and unstrapped her swords, holding them out. The Scoia’tal scout took them before motioning for her to come with him.

Vernossiel turned out to be a young woman with tattoos gracing the edges of her face. She was surprised to see Juray, judging by the look on her face when she laid eyes on the Witcher.

“Vatt’ghern?” she said. “Strange. No monsters trouble us here.”

“Maybe not you, but one seems to be troubling the Redanians. Hired me to kill it.”

“Well, they're mistaken. Not their first time. No monster here, your job is done.”

“Because no monster uses arrows to attack their prey, then steal supplies off a wagon. Men have died, Vernossiel.”

“Soldiers have died.” She walked toward Juray. “Radovid’s soldiers, serving the man who torments the Aen Seidhe from the Great Sea to the Blue Mountains. Soldiers who joined in massacres, tortured our brothers, raped our sisters. I shan’t cry for them.”

Juray crossed her arms as she spoke.

“We shall not stop attacking those transports. We must eat, same as you. So you’ve a choice… Leave now and forget what you saw, or you die.”

“There’s no need to threaten me. I kill monsters, not elves. But the Redanians are going to want answers.”

“Very well.” She motioned to one of the men nearby and spoke to him in elvish, requesting the squirrel tails of the fallen. She handed them to Juray. “Show them these, then. Give her things back, and a little something from the supplies. Wise decisions should be rewarded. Va Fail.”

~~~

Dawn came, along with the sound of a griffin’s scream.

“Hear that?” Vesemir asked as the two Witchers stood. “It’s close.”

“Let’s go give it a warm welcome.” Geralt reached up to draw his silver sword, both of their medallions beginning to tremble.

“Wait. Take this.” Vesemir handed Geralt a crossbow.

“A crossbow?”

“Won it in a card game while you ran around.”

Geralt hooked it to his belt.

“Might come in handy.”

“A Witcher with a crossbow? We breaking with tradition?”

“Stop talking. We got a griffin to kill.”

Just as Vesemir said these words, the griffin took their bait, landing next to the decoy sheep and biting into it. The two Witchers then attacked, Vesemir immediately casting Aard and stunning the griffin. Geralt leapt at the beast, bring his sword down. The griffin swiped a claw at him and he dodged.

“Look out!” Vesemir cried.

Geralt spun around and brought his sword down across his flank. He screeched and quickly spun around.

“Damn, he’s fast!”

After a few more blows between the two, the griffin took flight.

“Don’t let him get away!”

Geralt immediately sprinted after it. The griffin circled around and dove at Geralt. He rolled away from him, unholstering the crossbow and firing at the beast. This succeeded in pissing him off and he dived at him again. This time, Geralt cast Aard, knocking the griffin out of the air. Geralt immediately leapt onto the griffin, driving his sword through the griffin’s chest. He screeched in pain before falling limp. Geralt picked up the crossbow he’d dropped, replacing it, as Vesemir approached him.

“Not bad, not bad,” Vesemir commented. “Though you could stand to improve on some things.”

Geralt looked over at Vesemir. “For example?”

“Upward vertical strike. It’s too obvious.” He looked at Geralt. “But more on that later. Take the griffin’s head to the Black Ones. I’ll ready the horses. Meet me at the inn.”

Geralt gathered his trophy, while Vesemir retrieved the horses and helped tie it to Roach’s saddle. They parted at the inn and Geralt rode towards the Garrison.

Geralt walked through the gate with the griffin’s head, the two guards on duty gaping as he walked past them. Peter was inspecting the grain the farmer brought and not looking very happy.

“What the hell is this?” the Nilfgaardian asked.

“Rye,” the farmer answered.

“You take me for a blind man or a fool? This grain is rotten.”

“I-I didn’t know!”

“So a fool.” Peter sighed. “Dammit, you never learn…” he muttered to himself. Louder, he said, “Military codex, article two, section three: ‘For the delivery of defective goods, fifteen lashes with a knout’. Make it so!”

The farmer fell to his knees. “No, no, no! By the gods, no!”

Peter waved his hand and two of the guards took the farmer away, begging for mercy. Geralt watched them go, convincing himself to stay out of this.

“What?” Peter snapped.

“Guess you dropped the good uncle act.”

“It was no act. I extended a hand to these people. They spat on it.”

Geralt walked towards him. “Could it be ‘cause it held the sword that killed their loved ones?”

Peter scoffed. “A moralist! And what would you do in my stead?”

“Wouldn’t ever be in your stead.”

“What do you want, vatt’ghern?”

Geralt dropped the griffin’s head at Peter’s feet. “Fulfilled my end of the bargain. Your turn. Where’d Yennefer go?”

“To Vizima.”

Geralt’s jaw set. “She was a day’s ride from here the whole time, under my nose? Might’ve said so.”

“Yes, I might have. But you would not have killed the griffin. Tit for tat.”

Geralt glared at him before turning on his heel and heading for the gate.

“Halt.”

Geralt all but growled when he stopped.

“We are not done. It’s yours, this gold.”

Geralt turned back to Peter, who was holding a large coin purse in his hand toward the Witcher.

“I would not want you to say you were inadequately compensated.”

For a moment, Geralt considered telling Peter to shove it up his ass, but he knew he would need it in order to buy provisions for the road and took it. He then turned and left the garrison as the sounds of the farmer being lashed and his screams filled the air.

Geralt joined Vesemir in the inn, sitting across from him at the table he’d claimed. “Yennefer’s in Vizima,” he reported, “Got a few friends there, so…” Geralt stopped, noticing that Vesemir’s attention was elsewhere. “Something wrong?”

“Look around,” Vesemir said in a low voice. “Trouble brewing.”

At the table across from them, a man was playing Johnny Johnny Oops, his friends looking like angry wet cats.

“Time we were on our way then.”

“Mhm,” Vesemir agreed. “I’ll buy some provisions for the journey, then we’ll go.”

Geralt nodded and Vesemir stood.

“And, Geralt,” the older Witcher added. “We should stay out of it. Just this once.”

The men at the table watched the older Witcher like hawks watching a mouse. Vesemir set the provisions on the bar to pay for them.

“What happened to the Lilies?” A woman at the bar asked as the innkeeper packed the provisions.

“Took ‘em down.”

“Took ‘em down? To hang a golden sun there now?”

“I cannot show Temerian colors. They’ll come and burn the tavern down.” She handed the packed provisions to Vesemir.

“Maybe it’s true what they say,” the woman continued as Vesemir handed her the coin for the provisions. “You fond of the Imperials? You Nilfgaard’s whore?”

“I’ll let that pass. I know grief eats at your heart.”

Vesemir nodded his thanks and turned away.

“You know shit!” She stood up so quickly the stool shot behind her. Vesemir stopped the stool from hitting him with his foot. “They hanged my sister! Dragged her out of the cloister like a dog! Said Nilfgaard’s no place for superstition. That they don’t fear the wrath of the gods! And you? Do you fear it?”

The entire tavern was watching the spectacle, including Geralt.

“If not for Annie, your child would have choked on his navel-string.”

The innkeeper turned away but the woman grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Let go!”

“You owe your son to my sister attending the birth. And you don’t fear the gods’ wrath!?” She grabbed her by the head and the innkeeper tried to pry her hands off. “You don’t fear it, you cunt!?” She slammed the innkeeper’s head on to the bar several times before Vesemir ignored his own advice and stepped in, pulling her off the woman. “Leave me be!”

The innkeeper’s hands went to her now broken and bloody nose as another man shoved Vesemir. Geralt stood and headed towards Vesemir. The woman shoved past the two men as a couple more men advanced on Vesemir.

Vesemir picked up his medallion from where it hung on his chest. “Recognize this medallion?” he warned. “You know what it means. Back off!”

Geralt walked past Vesemir to check on the innkeeper. “You alright?”

She nodded.

“They say Witchers steal young ‘uns!” the man that shoved Vesemir said. “That true?”

Geralt turned to see the men at the other table had joined the others.

“What’d the Emperor promise you freaks?” another asked. “Your own land? Like he did the elves once?”

“Get out,” Vesemir said. “All of you.”

One of the troublemakers drew his weapon. “We ain’t going nowhere.” The others followed his lead. “And neither are you.”

The Witchers were forced to draw their steel swords.

“They won’t back down now,” Vesemir said.

“I can see that.”

Three charged at Geralt and he cast Aard, throwing them across the room as the other patrons screamed. The Witchers defended themselves, their long years of training taking over and leaving a mess for the innkeeper to clean up. The men hadn’t a chance against the Witchers and the fight ended almost as soon as it began

“Well, shit.”

“Begone!” the innkeeper cried. “And don’t ever come back!”

Vesemir placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and nodded his head to the door. “So much for not getting involved.”

“What exactly happened to that?”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

They stepped outside the inn to see several Nilfgaardian soldiers standing in the yard. Geralt assumed they were there because of the fight they’d just had.

“That brawl?” he said. “We didn’t start it.”

The Nilfgaardians said nothing, but a familiar female voice spoke next.

“Excuses, excuses,” she said, the soldiers stepping aside to reveal a woman wearing a black and white outfit and calf high heeled boots with long raven-colored hair and violet eyes. “You haven’t changed a bit.” She stopped in front of them with her hands on her hips and a playful smirk.

Geralt was almost speechless upon seeing Yennefer again. It had been years since he’d last seen her, but she hadn’t changed at all. She was still as beautiful as he remembered her. “Yen? How?” He took a step towards her.

Yennefer closed the distance between them. “I received a report. About a Witcher who’d appeared in White Orchard. I knew it was you. Looking for me. I might have waited until you found me, but… you know me. Patience has never been my strong suit.” She then smiled at him. “It’s… good to see you, Geralt. I’d… even embrace you,” she motioned to his armor. “Were you not covered in blood.”

“Sorry. Wasn’t expecting to see you. To be honest, this isn’t at all how I imagined we’d meet.”

Yennefer gave a smirk. “How did you imagine it?”

“He didn’t imagine you’d have a Nilfgaardian escort,” Vesemir answered instead, seeing that Geralt’s entire focus was on the sorceress in front of him. Yennefer’s hands went back to her hips. “Don’t get me wrong, Yennefer. I’m glad to see you, but I do think you owe us an explanation.”

“And I shall provide it. In Vizima. Ready your horses.”

“We can talk here,” Geralt said. “Some charming orchards nearby. In bloom, even, so you can almost not smell the corpses.”

Vesemir rolled his eyes.

Yennefer gave a laugh. “A tempting proposition. Sadly, I must say no. You see, someone awaits you in Vizima. Someone who doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Geralt raised a brow.

“Emperor Emhyr var Emreis… or to those on more intimate terms with him, the White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Foes.”

“Doubt I number in that group. Far as I remember, last time we saw each other, he wanted to kill me.”

Despite helping lift a curse placed on him, Geralt and Emhyr hadn’t been on good terms for years, having tried to kill him on several occasions before he was finally content with leaving him be.

“Well, now he wishes to make you an offer.”

“The kind one can’t refuse?” Vesemir asked, knowing the Emperor’s rocky relationship with Geralt.

“I didn’t. Though I could have.”

Geralt sighed. “Fine. I guess I can hear him out.”

“The Emperor of Nilfgaard, lord of Metinna, Ebbing, and Gemmera, Sovereign of Nazair and Vicovaro, will feel honored.”

“Was all that necessary?”

Yennefer only smiled and turned away.

Geralt shook his head and looked over at Vesemir. “What about you?”

“I’m going the opposite direction. I somehow doubt the Emperor’s invitation mentioned me. Besides, I’ve got things to do at Kaer Morhen, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. Thanks for your help, Vesemir.” The two clasped forearms. “See you soon.” Geralt joined Yennefer and her escort.

“How’s your horse?” she asked. “Swift?”

“Can’t complain. Why do you ask?”

“I’d like to be back behind thick city walls. As soon as possible.”

Geralt mounted Roach and waved goodbye to Vesemir before heading out of White Orchard. He would have liked to check on Lena before leaving, but there was an urgency to Yennefer in leaving. Vesemir watched them leave before mounting his own horse and heading the opposite direction.


	8. Vizmia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Yennefer have a run-in with some old friends. Geralt is hired by the Emperor of Nilfgard to find his elusive daughter

Night fell quickly as they reached the main road, the Nilfgaardians bantering with each other, but otherwise they traveled in silence.

Geralt finally broke it. “You know… I had a dream about you recently.”

“Knowing you, it was probably filthy,” Yennefer responded.

Geralt chuckled. “Just the beginning. But then…” He trailed off as his medallion started to vibrate.

“And then?” She looked over at Geralt as snow began to fall to see the look on his face that usually meant he was in Witcher mode.

He suddenly turned his head and looked past her. “Yen.”

She looked over her shoulder to see several riders and dogs that looked to be covered in ice advancing towards them. “Ride! Now!”

They sent their horses into a gallop, trying to outrun the riders at their backs. One by one, the Nilfgaardians were overtaken, leaving only Geralt and Yennefer.

“Faster!” she cried.

Geralt was already pushing Roach as fast as she could run. As they approached an old wooden bridge, Geralt saw a white ball of light steadily growing in Yennefer’s hand. The moment both of them were over the bridge, Yennefer turned in her saddle and sent the magical lightning to destroy the bridge, stopping the riders' chase. The two kept their horses at a gallop.

“Yennefer, how’d they…?”

“We’ll talk of this tomorrow, all right?” Yennefer interrupted. “After the audience.”

They both knew exactly who the riders were. Geralt could only wonder why the Wild Hunt had been after Yennefer again. They were both glad to see the lights of Vizima in the distance.

~~~

After a very enjoyable bath, followed by a meeting with a razor and General Morvran Voorhis, Geralt was taken to meet with Emperor Emhyr. His chamberlain, a man that made a drowner seem warm and friendly, led the Witcher to his audience.

“The gentleman will only address the Emperor only when asked to and using the appropriate title,” he said.

“Your Archmagnificency?” Geralt asked drily.

“I see the gentleman is in the mood for jests. I fear the Emperor might not share his disposition. Your Majesty will suffice. Spoken loudly, clearly, and with respect.”

Geralt rolled his eyes as the chamberlain opened the door to Emhyr’s office. Several lords and ladies were in the room and everyone turned to them. Behind a desk sat the Emperor, older than the last time Geralt saw him. The lines on his face showed the wear of his rule and the hair at his temples had greyed. But other than that, not much seemed to have changed. He still had that hard look Geralt remembered well.

“Bow before his Imperial Majesty, The White Flame Dancing on the Graves of his Foes, Emhyr var Emreis,” he said in Nilfgaardian with a bow.

Geralt hesitated a moment before he, too, bowed, causing a surprised look to cross Emhyr’s face. “Your Imperial Majesty.”

“As Your Majesty wished,” the chamberlain continued in Nilfgaardian.

“All except the Witcher will leave,” Emhyr said. After the room emptied, he switched to Common. “I thought you bowed to no man.”

“Didn’t want to disappoint the chamberlain. We’re friends.”

Emhyr had forgotten about Geralt’s wit and sarcasm and was not amused by it today. He stood and went around the desk.

“Take it you didn’t summon me to reminisce about the good old days, so…”

“Silence.” He then turned towards the painting of a little girl with ashen hair and a frilly pink dress. “My daughter, Cirilla…”

Geralt gave his back a dagger glare.

“She’s returned. And she’s in danger. The Wild Hunt pursues her.”

Geralt’s look changed at the mention, remembering the dream he had prior to arriving at White Orchard.

Emhyr turned back to Geralt. “You will find her and bring her to me.”

“Are you sure?” Geralt asked. “Ciri… left. Went far away.” As Ciri was a teenager last time he saw her, even the Witcher didn’t know where she went.

“Do you think I would drag you here in the middle of a war to discuss a rumor?” Emhyr snapped.

“I think anyone can be wrong. Even an emperor.”

Emhyr took a step forward. “I forgot how insolent you can be.” He stepped away. “I haven’t the time to convince you, nor the desire, in fact. Yennefer will do that, after the audience.”

“How many men in your army? Twenty thousand? Thirty? So why me?”

“You know why. She trusts you.”

 _Because I raised her._ he thought, looking up at the painting of Ciri. Out loud, he said, “She trusts me, yes. So tell me why you’re looking for her. Doubt it’s about making up for all those lost years.” To Geralt, Ciri was his daughter, not Emhyr’s.

Emhyr sat behind his desk again. “For reasons of state. As always. Enough of this banter. You will agree regardless. If for no other reason than because I will pay you.”

Geralt’s lips drew into a flat line.

“More than you customarily receive for a Contract. Considerably more.”

“Save your generosity for those whose homes your armies have razed,” Geralt crossed his arms. “I’ll do it for Ciri. Not for your gold.”

“Your motives do not interest me. Only results. Yennefer will tell you the rest. This audience is finished.” He leaned forward and picked up some papers. “Mererid!”

The chamberlain returned.

“Take him to the sorceress.”

Mererid motioned for Geralt to follow him. Geralt turned away from Emhyr and followed, not even bothering to look back.

Outside Emhyr’s office, Mererid looked at Geralt. “Follow me, if it pleases the gentleman.” He started to walk away, his hands clasped behind him. Geralt wondered if his lack of personality was the reason he was Emhyr’s chamberlain. “Please keep close. There are many honorable guests in the palace, who the gentleman…”

“Disgusts?” Geralt offered, as that seemed to be the common response to Witchers, no matter where he was.

“Need not bother,” Mererid said, annoyed.

He led Geralt through the palace, many of the guests gossiping about his presence and the guards giving him hard looks. General Voorhis gave him a respectful nod as he passed. Mererid stopped in front of a door. “Once the gentleman is done, he should see me for his possessions.”

Geralt opened the door and walked in, passing by a scribe and a man telling him what he wanted to be written. In the next room, Geralt found Yennefer, who had changed into a black and white dress.

She turned to him with a smile. “Geralt! That tunic, you look positively smashing.”

“I’m dying to take it off.” Geralt hated doublets and tunics with a passion. He much preferred shirts and armor than the stiff formal wear of the upper class.

Yennefer smirked. “I would consider that a proposition under different circumstances, one I would take you up on.” She motioned for him to join her at a nearby table. “But we have matters to attend to.” She walked over to the table. “Now do you understand why I’m at Emhyr’s court?”

“And seems we’re in the same boat now.” Geralt looked over at Yennefer. “Ciri... she’s really back? No chance he’s mistaken?”

In response, Yennefer picked up a drawing and handed it to Geralt. “That’s more or less what she looks like now, or so our agents claim.”

Geralt took the drawing, a young woman with a scar on her cheek looking back at him. He remembered all too well how she came about that scar, nearly losing her eye from the bounty hunter who claimed to have been able to best Witchers.

“Our little Witcher’s grown into a young lady.”

“How about that,” Geralt said, sounding to Yennefer very much like a father seeing his child for the first time following a war. “She’s all grown up.”

“It’s been years since you trained together at Kaer Morhen.”

Geralt put down the drawing and looked at Yennefer.

“A great deal has changed.”

“You haven’t. Not a bit.”

“I missed those awkward compliments of yours… but let’s focus on Ciri, all right?”

Geralt nodded. “Right. Emhyr said the Wild Hunt’s after her. I’d find that hard to believe, before what happened yesterday. How did they track us down?”

“Because of me. You see… I’ve spent months searching for Ciri. Using locating spells, haruspicy, geomancy, anything, really. I knew the Wild Hunt might sense it, perhaps even find me, but… I thought I tricked them.”

“Guess you were wrong.”

“I sensed them on my trail, hunting me, for some time. If not for you and Emhyr’s soldiers, they’d have gotten what they were after.”

Geralt knew she was referring to his sensing their coming.

“I can’t risk another encounter like that. It’s time to put away the magic, turn to more traditional means.” She looked at Geralt. “To the best tracker I know. You must find her Geralt.” Yennefer knew she sounded like a desperate mother. Like Geralt, Ciri was like a daughter to her. She remembered fondly when Ciri asked to be called Yennefer’s daughter during a debate at the Lodge of Sorceresses. “Before the Wild Hunt does.”

“What does it want from Ciri?”

“I’ve no clue. Might’ve written them to ask, but I don’t have their address.” She saw the ghost of a smirk on his face. “I know as much as you do. It must be about her blood, her gift. As for what the Hunt wishes to do with her gift, I… I’d prefer not to think about it, really.”

“Where’s Ciri been seen, exactly?”

“In two places, Velen and Novigrad.” Yennefer stepped over to the map on the table. “The lead in Velen is most promising. You should make that your first step. Ask for a merchant named Hendrik at the Inn at the Crossroads. One of the Emperor’s agents, he should get in touch with you.”

“That’s it? No passwords, no secret handshakes?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Sorry to spoil your fun, your boyhood fantasies about the crafts of the trade. All we have in Novigrad are unconfirmed reports, rumors. But there you will have the help of a mutual acquaintance.”

“Who?”

“Triss Merigold.” Yennefer watched his face to see his reaction to the name, as Geralt had the most expressive face of any Witcher she’d met. Unfortunately for her, he decided to be a Witcher and didn’t show any emotion at the name. “Apparently, she’s got a cozy flat on the main square.”

“Sure she’ll be delighted to see me,” he said drily. After regaining his memory almost a year earlier, he’d broken things off with Triss. And he was certain that Yennefer knew about the relationship he’d had with her.

“What about you? What will you do?”

“I shall sail for Skellige,” she responded, now deliberately not looking at Geralt. “There was a magical explosion there recently, blew half a forest down. I believe this had something to do with Ciri. I’ll be in Kaer Trolde. Join me there once you’ve learned something.” Yennefer started to turn away when Geralt gently took her arm.

“Why didn’t you contact me?” he asked. “Didn’t need me? Didn’t even want to see me?”

“I didn’t want to spoil things. I heard you and Triss made a great couple.”

Geralt showed emotion this time, his face showing regret at hurting her. “Yen… I’d lost my memory.”

“Really? That’s your excuse?”

Geralt sighed, realizing it had hurt her more than she’d let on. Jaskier had told him upon their first meeting after waking up in Kaer Morhen with no memory that he had been married to a sorceress, but the tales he’d heard about himself said that she’d died trying to save him. That they both had died. He opened his mouth to explain.

“Let’s drop it, all right? ‘It’s not what you think’ or ‘It helped me understand how much I love you’. I don’t wish to hear it, any of it.”

“I guess this means we split up again.” Geralt respected Yennefer’s wish to change the subject. “Not my preference, but I understand. Clock’s ticking.”

“It is indeed. So why don’t I teleport you to Velen, get you there at once.”

“Not gonna happen.” Geralt hated portals with a passion after watching half a person emerge from one not long after he started walking the Path and the several times of not reaching the desired location. “I’ll go on horseback. Soon as I can get changed.”

“Have it your way,” she turned away. “Oh, and you really look quite dashing in black velvet.”

“Think so? Maybe I can have some of my armor lined with it.”

She gave a smile, his desired response.

“Good luck, Yen.”

“Same to you. If you need an update on current events while you and Vesemir roamed the wilds, talk to Ambassador var Attre.” She motioned over towards the man that had been speaking to the scribe. “And, Geralt. I know it’s wartime, but try not to be a hero, all right? I need you to check those leads and come back to me. In one piece.” She stepped up to him and gave him a quick kiss, stepping back before he had time to react. “I shall be waiting.” Yennefer walked away, opening a portal and disappearing through it.

“See you then, Yen.”

After speaking to the ambassador about the states of Velen, Novigrad, and Skellige, and the progress of the war, Geralt went to find Mererid.

“How might I serve the gentleman?”

“By returning my things.”

“Follow me.”

Geralt was once again led through the palace and taken to a room where he could change. Mererid delivered Geralt’s clothes, armor, and weapons, the Witcher immediately noting the fragrance coming off them.

“Citrus and cloves. The fragrance will keep the gentleman’s robes fresh somewhat longer.”

“Thanks bunches.” Geralt responded sarcastically before beginning to change. “Shoo. I don’t need your help.”

Mererid gave a bow and turned to walk away. “The Emperor is not known for his patience. He wants his daughter back, safe and sound. As soon as possible.”

“Yeah, mentioned something of the sort.”

Mererid then left the room.

Geralt wondered how he was going to get the scent out of his clothes as he was sure a monster would smell him coming. He knew Velen was a good ride from Vizima and hoped the citrus scent would fade by then. He strapped his swords to his back and walked out of the room, the same gossip following him to the door. A stable boy fetched Roach for him, the mare tossing her head when she saw him.

“Yeah, I know. Can’t wait to get outta here either.” He mounted her, glad for the feel of the saddle beneath him. “We’re headed to Velen, Roach.”

Roach tossed her head again, ready to go back out into the world.


	9. Drinking on the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juray runs into an old friend while on a Contract. Geralt starts following Ciri's trail.

Juray examined the corpse on the table, glad that the medic hadn’t cremated the victims yet. She’d been able to travel to Oxenfort after obtaining a pass through the blockade over the Pontar River as a reward for helping get to the bottom of the raids on some supply wagons. The soldier had believed her when she brought back the squirrel tails as proof of killing the Scoia'tal attacking the wagons. The first thing she did was find a notice board. In her experience, cities paid well for the monsters in their underworld. Most of the time it was drowners living in the sewers. Sometimes she was lucky to find something more dangerous. This seemed to be one of her lucky Contracts. Both of the bodies still in the morgue bore bites on their necks and not a drop of blood in their bodies. Both also reeked of cheap alcohol. Juray examined the area where the only surviving witness said she’d been attacked and where the medic said the bodies had been found, finding a bracelet that was much too big for a human. She turned the gold bracelet over in her hand.

“Fondness of jewelry, wounds on the victims. Has to be a katakan.” She tossed the bracelet back to the ground and stood from her crouch. “Only this one like drunk blood. Only one way to lure him out.” She turned and headed back to the tavern she’d spoken to the witness at and made her way to the bar.

“Greetings, Mistress Witcher. What can I do you for?”

“Wanna get drunk off my ass. And it’s gotta be cheap wine.”

“Trouble with a beau? Beautiful woman like you I’m sure you get all sorts of men trouble.”

Juray snorted. A difficult fight with an elder vampire had left her with three long claw scars on her left jaw and neck. She had been lucky that the claws had missed her jugular, but the blood had been too much for him to resist and would have drained her had the Black Blood potion not poisoned him.

“I would have said yes thirty years ago, but tonight, it’s part of the job.”

“I’ll need you to pay in advance.”

Juray dropped the crowns on the bar. “Just pour and keep it coming.”

“What’s the occasion?” a male voice asked as the bartender started pouring.

Juray turned her head to see a man with tanned skin, dark hair, and eyes as yellow as hers.

He slid a few crowns towards the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

“Storm? What are you doing here?”

Stormrider, a Witcher from the Bear School who had earned the name fighting a wyvern during a storm, regarded her with a grin. “I was in town, just finished a Contract.”

“Well, I’m on a Contract.”

“And you’re drinking on the job?”

Juray downed her drink. “Only job on the Continent where I can.”

“What are you hunting?”

“Pretty sure it’s a katakan that prefers the blood of drunks. All the bodies reeked of cheap wine. And the only survivor said she’d had a drink or five prior to running into the thing.”

“How did she survive?”

“Said she ran.”

“You know how dangerous these things can be.”

“Yeah, I know.” She motioned to her scars. “Got my ass handed to me by one.”

“And taking one on drunk…”

“It’s the only way to lure it out.” She turned to Stormrider. “But if you’re that concerned, then stay in the shadows and watch my ass. I’ll split the reward with you if you end up having to jump in.”

“Fine.”

A couple hours later, Juray stumbled out of the tavern. Stormrider had left a little while earlier to wait in the shadows. She headed down the street, planning on going in a circle around the tavern, singing loudly. After finishing the first verse, she still hadn’t sensed the vampire. She turned down another street, singing another verse loudly. She was promptly yelled at by a local she’d woken up.

“Oops,” she giggled. But she had the katakan’s attention now, her so-called curse allowing her to sense it before her medallion. “Come closer, you son of a bitch,” she whispered, heading down an alley.

“I sense your blood,” the katakan said, Juray’s medallion finally warning her of a nearby monster.

“I hoped you would,” Juray said, reaching for her silver sword, and missing the first time. She grasped it the second time. “Come out and fight, bitch.” She heard a screech then saw two katakans charging at her. “Well, fuck.”

She swung directly in between the two, hearing a satisfying shriek. Juray cast Quen on herself before swinging and managing to strike again. The katakan charged at her, knocking her back. Juray flipped head over heels and landed on her stomach, hearing it give another pained shriek.

“This was such a bad idea,” she muttered, shaking her head and noticing the vampire had disappeared. “Where the hell did it go?”

“Juray!”

“I’m fine.”

Stormrider helped her to her feet. “You can’t do this drunk.”

“Watch me.” She darted off, following the katakan’s trail using the heightening hearing that came with being a Witcher.

Stormrider sighed, following after her. They tracked it to a hut near the river. Juray tried the door but found it locked. She went around the hut to find another way in, noticing the ladder at the side.

“I’m really starting to question your sanity at this point,” Stormrider commented as she climbed the ladder.

“Are you going to help, or just make comments?”

By the time Stormrider reached the top of the ladder, Juray was dropping down from the top level. She landed on top of the katakan, the vampire giving a shriek of surprise as she drove her sword through its back. Stormrider followed, his silver sword drawn, but by the time he’d landed, the katakan was down and Juray was taking its head.

“I’m impressed. You Wolf School Witchers have a well-earned reputation for getting jobs done. Although I’m sure doing a job drunk off your ass is a first.”

“Have you met the others? I’m probably not the first one to do this.”

Stormrider chuckled. “You are going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

~~~

“Shut up,” Juray said to the grinning Stormrider. He dropped the full purse down in front of her.

“What’s this?”

“Your reward for killing the katakana. I took the trophy to the officer that posted the Contract while you slept it off.”

Juray picked up the purse. “No way this is half.”

“Because it’s not. You did all the work. I only managed to get one hit on it.”

“We agreed…”

“To half if I had to step in and help. One hit doesn’t count as helping.”

“Take something. That does count as helping my drunk ass with it.”

“I’ve got something more valuable for you. I’ve heard the White Wolf himself is in Velen.”

“Geralt? Last I heard he was somewhere in Temeria.”

“And you know Temeria doesn’t exist anymore. And technically Velen was part of it. From what I heard he’s looking for someone. Made some waves in White Orchard with another Witcher, then showed up near the Hanged Tree.”

Juray was familiar with Hanged Tree, an overly large oak used by the Nilfgaardians as a gallows. The bodies were still decorating the tree, the locals afraid to cut them down and lay them to rest. Her thoughts then went to Geralt. She hadn’t seen him in a while. He’d stopped wintering at Kaer Morhen, opting to be with Yennefer. She’d mourned him upon his death, was overjoyed when he showed back up very much alive, if amnesic. She’d heard from Triss that he’d regained those lost memories.

“There’s good money right now in Velen,” Juray said.

“I know. The war’s got the monsters pretty riled.”

“Good luck on the Path, Storm. It was good to see you again. And thank you for the help.”

“Maybe we’ll run into each other in Velen again. See you, Juray.”

~~~

Geralt arrived at the Inn at the Crossroads, a small village southeast of Crow’s Perch. It had started raining not too long before his arrival, a combination of cold and wet Geralt wasn’t very keen on, as tended to aggravate the old injury to his knee, hip, and elbow. He left Roach outside the inn and went inside. He was greeted by the usual stares, which he ignored, making a beeline to the innkeeper.

“Looking for a man,” Geralt said as the innkeeper cleaned a mug. “Goes by Hendrik.”

“What do you want with him?”

“Wanna talk to him.”

“What about?”

Geralt realized the innkeeper was protecting him and wasn’t going to give up where to find him easily, so he tried a different tactic. “Give me a bottle of something strong.” He put the crowns on the bar while the innkeeper retrieved a bottle and a glass. Geralt poured himself a drink and threw it back, the strong liquor burning on the way down.

Horses came to a stop outside and the other patrons suddenly decided they needed to be elsewhere. And quickly.

“You gotta go!” The innkeeper said, nearly panicked. “I’ll open the back way out for ye!”

“You got company. Who is it?”

Before the innkeeper could answer, several men in the local baron’s colors marched in like they owned the place.

“Innkeep!” one shouted. “Vodka!” They all stopped when they saw Geralt, who was standing with his back to them. “Who’s this ‘un?”

“Brave warrior looks like,” another said. “Got two swords, see?”

“Oi, grey boy!”

Geralt gave a sigh.

“What’s the point of having two swords, eh?”

Geralt didn’t answer, only poured himself another drink.

“Wonder if he keeps an extra prick in his trousers?” a third commented.

“You fucking deaf?” the first man asked. “Gonna say who you are, or do I need to loosen your tongue with me knife.”

“How about I buy everyone a round?” Geralt said, turning towards them, noticing the innkeeper seemed to have stopped breathing.

“Why would you?” a fourth asked.

“Got the coin for it. Simple as that.”

“I don’t drink with strangers,” the first informed him.

“We share a round, we won’t be strangers anymore. Then we go our separate ways.”

“And which way might yours be?”

“On my way to Novigrad.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“City of whores and whoremongers.”

The innkeeper set the drinks down in front of the soldiers and Geralt held up his glass. “To your health. And mine.”

“Bottoms up.”

The men drank and the soldiers turned to each other.

The innkeeper looked relieved that a fight didn’t break out. “If you wanna rest, come with me. I have a bench you can use.”

Geralt nodded and followed the innkeeper around the corner as the soldiers started talking amongst each other.

Once they were out of earshot, the innkeeper turned to Geralt. “Thanks for not startin’ a row with those swine.”

“I don’t generally poke my nose into other people’s business.”

“Looking to stay the night?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

Geralt heard the disappointment in his voice. “I’m looking for Hendrik.”

“Man lives in Heatherton.”

“Don’t know where that is.”

“Other side of the hill. Looked that way this morn and saw a strange glow. Imperials on the raid, perhaps, but who knows.”

“Anything else you can tell me about Hendrik?”

“Odd fellow. Arrived here from who knows where and for no apparent reason. Shacked up with a widow whose husband was stabbed for a scrap of bread.”

“Baron’s men don’t like strangers.”

“Aye, and he stays outta their way. Always seems to know when they’re comin’, always manages to disappear.”

“Thanks, innkeep.” Geralt took the other door and headed over to Roach.

More of the Baron’s men were harassing the villagers. Geralt used their distraction to ride out of the village without being noticed and headed towards Heatherton.

As he drew closer to the abandoned looking village, Geralt’s hackles rose. “Air’s strange…,” he thought out loud. “Like dropping into a deep cellar on a hot day.”

Roach danced around, feeling that same unease as her rider.

“And the mist…”

Geralt dismounted just as he heard dogs and a man yelling. Following the sound, he saw a man fighting off wild dogs with a torch. Geralt jumped in and dispatched them with his steel sword. He turned towards the man, who swung the torch at him.

“Begone! Leave me be, whoever you is! Get away!” He fell, dropping the torch.

Geralt cast Axii on the man. “Calm down. It’s over.”

The man relaxed, standing and rubbing his face. “Aye, it’s over. All’s past, never to be restored. I’ll not forget that, ever.” He walked over to the well and sat down next to it.

“Looking for a man named Hendrik. Supposed to live in this village.”

“Aye, he did. No longer.” He motioned towards one of the homes. “They nabbed him in that hut. If you’d of heard the cries, sir… if you’d have heard how a man can scream, how he can suffer.” The villager shook his head.

“What happened here? Step by step.”

“They took ‘em. Took ‘em all.”

Geralt waited.

“The sun was waning, see? And the dusk went crimson like blood. Thought to meself ‘Strange. The toads. I can’t hear them.’ So I went and looked out me window. There was something foul in the air. The air turned cold and the torches all went out one by one. Then they road in. Riders like nothin’ I’d ever seen, all covered in ice. They all stopped in front of Hendrik’s hut. I was so afeared that I hid. I know not what happened, save terror through and through. Hendrik screamed, then he begged. By the end, he could do naught but moan.”

Geralt recognized who the villager described. “Just wonderful,” he muttered.

“Weren’t here long, the terrors. Yet the village froze like in the heart of winter.”

“You go in the hut when they rode off?”

“No. And I’ll not set foot in there. Never.”

Geralt nodded. “Peace of mind to you.” He turned and headed towards Hendrik’s hut. He glanced down to see hoof and footprints and crouched down to examine them to see how many were there. “Traces of ice around the footprints. Really?” He walked into the hut and saw a man’s bloodied corpse lying in the middle of the floor. “Tortured him.” Geralt searched Hendrik’s body for anything the Wild Hunt might have missed. “Trousers’ are stiff, as if hung out to dry mid-winter.” He rolled him slightly, a key falling out of his boot. Geralt picked it up. “Wonder what this is to.”

He stood and searched the rest of the hut, finding a locked trap door. The key fit the lock perfectly and the Witcher descended into the cellar. It was full of foodstuffs and other merchandise a merchant would have sold, along with a missing poster for the Bloody Baron’s daughter. As he rounded a corner, one of his swords bumped a candlestick on the wall. He turned to keep the candle from falling, only to notice a wall shelf swing away from the wall, revealing a hidden compartment.

“Well, that’s interesting.”

He walked over to the compartment and took out the only thing in it: a book. The book turned out to be a ledger. All the entries seemed to be for what Hendrik was masquerading as until Geralt noticed some interesting headings among the entries.

“ _Missing and Wanted. Subject appeared in Skellige. Also seen in Novigrad. Appearance unchanged. Ashen hair. Scar on her face. Avoids contact with others._ ” He turned to the heading titled “Drunken Swine”. “ _So-called baron hosted subject at his castle, or should I say, illegally appropriated fort. Reason unknown. Talk to Baron at Crow’s Perch._ Doesn’t sound like he was much of a fan of this baron.” Geralt glanced through the headings until he found another odd one, this one titled “Clashed with a Witch”. “ _Subject landed in swamp, encountered a witch. Conflict ensued. Cause unknown. Find the witch. Talk to the peasantry, village of Midcopse._ ” The next heading was “Caution Advised”. “ _I’m being observed. Don’t know by whom or why. Unsettling signs. Dog ran off. Water in bucket froze solid. Strange glow observed in sky. Ill omen, peasants say._ ” It was the final entry in the ledger and Geralt closed the book. “Somehow, they learned Hendrik was searching for Ciri, thus the torture. I’m too late. My only leads, the baron and some witch. Damn.” He turned and headed towards the ladder. “Midcopse isn’t far from here. I’ll start there.”

~~~

Juray crossed the Pontar back into Velen, fully planning on doing Contracts until she had word of where Geralt was heading. Shadowmount, her pitch-black mare, danced around some children playing in the camp on the other side of the river. Refugees were begging to be let across. Several seemed content to wait, believing themselves safe among the soldiers and Radovid’s witch hunters. The Rendarian king hated anything and everything to do with magic and alchemy. Juray was sure Witchers were on that list as well, just tolerated slightly more than mages. The Church of the Eternal Fire had always been a thorn in the side of the people, but in recent years, humans seemed to be flocking to it in droves. Several witch hunters glared at Juray as she rode past them. She knew it was only a matter of time before they started including Witchers in their hunts. Once past the refugees and soldiers, she turned Shadowmount south and urged her into a canter, aiming to find a village with a notice board and gossiping townsfolk.


	10. The Witch of Midcopse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt meets with an old acquaintance while searching for a friend of Ciri's.

Geralt dismounted when he arrived in Midcopse. The villagers largely ignored him, which was fine by him. He could listen to the conversations around him better without someone bothering him. He led Roach through town until he heard two women talking about a woman who had recently arrived that had been helping the village with various problems.

“What’s a witch with no grey on her head?” an older woman who was sweeping off her front steps said. “Not much likely to be inside it.”

“For one who never sees her,” a younger woman scrubbing clothes against a washboard replied. “You seem to know a heap about her.”

“I know what they say. Don’t care much meself, but when folk talk, I listen.”

Geralt approached her as the other woman turned to hang the laundry.

“Should send him back to the witch,” she complained. “Might cure him of laziness.”

“Greetings, ma’am,” Geralt said to gain her attention.

The woman stopped. “Don’t hear that much from the young’uns these days.”

It was rare for someone to call him young. Many times they would see his white hair and assume he was an old man. Even though he would be considered one by human standards.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Got a matter for your village witch. Know where I can find her?”

“I don’t bother with her meself, but ask my man, he’ll know. Twerked his back so bad last week he could hardly move. So I sent him to the witch. Came back sprightly as a foul.”

“Where is he?”

She motioned around the house. “Pain’s gone, but sloth’s set in now. Should be huntin’ foxberries to feed our young’uns. Marian’s lad, now that man, he knows how to provide for his family. Caught some water rats last week, they had food for days.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Geralt went around the house to find a man leaning against the fence. “Good day. Heard you know where to find the local witch.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your wife.”

“Daft wench. Leave me be and don’t listen to that natterin’ sow. We’ve not had a witch, shaman, nor cunning wench in ages.”

Geralt felt he was protecting her for some reason and cast Axii with practiced fingers. “You sure? Give it a think.”

“Won’t take no for an answer, will ye? All right. Know the small pond near the village?”

Geralt nodded, having passed it on the way into town.

“Path leads off from it. Follow that until you come to a lone rock. Walk around that, into the woods. Find the old cart, you’re there.”

“Thanks.” Geralt started to turn away.

“It’s just… don’t hurt her, sir. Word of your kind has reached these parts.”

Geralt looked puzzled. “My kind?”

“The witch burning kind.”

Geralt realized the villager thought he was a witch hunter. “Witch hunters have been here already?”

“Nay, but we’ve heard tell of them. So when I spied you coming, swords and all, straightaway I thought tales must be true.”

“I’m a Witcher, not a witch hunter.”

“Not one and the same?”

“Not at all. I’m not out to harm your witch, just need her help in something.”

“A weight off me heart. She only arrived a short while ago, but she’s frightfully wise. Even pleasant on the eyes, if you like them skinny.”

“Thanks for your help.” Geralt turned and went back to Roach, mounting her and heading out of the village.

He followed the villager’s directions and came upon a hut with several villagers begging the witch for help. One villager begged for the witch to help his sick cow. Geralt stepped past the edge of the hut to see her on her stoop, surprised that he knew her. He leaned against the wall, patiently waiting for the villager to finish pleading his case to her. It had been some time since Geralt had seen Kiera Metz and he wondered what she was doing in the middle of nowhere, as she had enjoyed a lavish lifestyle and was keen on the finer things in life.

“Do I look like a dairymaid to you?” she asked.

“No, miss,” a young woman next to the cow’s villager said.

Kiera turned her head as the woman spoke noticing Geralt, a surprised look in her eyes.

“But you know things. ‘Tis our last cow, none other left in the village.”

“Rest died of hunger,” the man at her side said. “Or soldiers led them off. We’re good as dead without ‘er.”

“I shall give you herbs,” Kiera said with a sigh. “Mix them with water drawn from the spring at midnight, then make the cow drink them. But first, you must clean your barn. Thoroughly, is that clear?”

“Thank you, miss!” the woman said. “A thousand thanks!”

She handed the woman the herbs. “Enough! I’ve had my fill for the day. Go home!” She looked at Geralt again before turning and going inside, shutting the door behind her.

The villagers dispersed and Geralt waited until they’d left before he went inside. To find the hut empty.

“Kiera?” he called. He searched through the hut, his medallion vibrating. “Where did she run off to?”

In a back room, he found a pentagram drawn in chalk on the floor and a skull sitting on a table. The closer he drew to the skill, the harder the medallion trembled. “Powerful aura, must be some sort of artifact.” Geralt reached out to pick it up, but when his hand came close, the skull seemed to glow and a portal opened up over the pentagram. “So that’s where she disappeared to.” He stepped towards the portal. “I fucking hate portals,” he grouched before stepping through.

Geralt found himself in a peaceful sanctuary. Hares ran around the garden and the place felt very tranquil, along with being magically charged. Geralt had to place a hand over his medallion to keep it from dancing on his chest. “Well, well. Nice,” he commented. He followed the path, heading to the raised pool.

“I was wondering how long it would take you, Geralt,” Kiera called from above. “I’m upstairs. Don’t be shy.”

Geralt walked to the pool to be greeted with the sight of Kiera bathing in the pool.

“Greetings, Witcher,” she said with a smile. Like every other sorceress he’d ever met, Kiera hadn’t aged a day, her long hair still golden and looking very much like a 20-year-old woman, despite being older than Geralt.

“Missed a spot,” he teased, earning a look from Kiera.

“Where?”

Geralt crossed his arms as she continued to bathe.

“Hope you didn’t come to gawk.” She wasn’t even bothering to hide her nakedness from the Witcher. Not that it bothered Geralt at all.

“No. To talk.”

“Turn around and wait.”

Geralt gave a scoff of a laugh, but turned around anyway, amused that now she wanted to protect her modesty. Kiera exited the pool and used magic to dry herself off and dress. She stepped around Geralt and he turned towards her. She was wearing a low cut dress that barely left anything to the imagination, along with a necklace with red beads, drawing the eye to her breasts, where an amulet rested.

“Kiera Metz. Deep in the heart of Velen. Thought you hated the countryside.”

“I can assure you I do, now more than ever.”

“Heard a witch lived out here. Never would have guessed it was King Foltest’s former advisor.”

“I’m so pleased the world’s still able to astound you, Geralt,” Kiera said sarcastically. “I actually envy you that sense of wonder. Common in children, knights-errant, and morons.”

Geralt crossed his arms. “Someone’s grown irritable. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“I believe I greeted you with a pleasant view.” Kiera sat on a nearby bench. “Now tell me what brings you here.”

“Any news of your sisters from the Lodge?”

“None. We can’t know too much about one another these days. Safer that way.”

“Even tried to contact one another?”

“I’ve wanted to. Many times. But I have no way of knowing who would answer. Or was listening.”

“Betcha saw this question coming: what are you doing here?”

“Let me think. Enjoying the country air? Admiring the unspoilt scenery? Or is it furthering the age-old alliance between the city and its breadbasket? What the hell do you think? I’m in hiding. Blind to the state of the world? Can’t you see what’s happening?”

“Mean the persecution the mages now face?”

“Radovid’s new pastime. Pursuing anyone with a whiff of magic on them. Witch hunters. Sound familiar? Murderers scouring the North from end to end. Burning books, hanging soothsayers, torturing herbalists. I doubt even Witchers will be immune soon. Have you heard from your brothers? From the White Demon?”

“Last I heard of them, they were fine. Including Juray. But I’m not here to talk about them. I’m looking for a certain young woman.”

Kiera crossed her legs. “Oh, really? Who?”

“I’m looking for Ciri. _That_ Ciri. And no one can know. Understand?”

Kiera blinked in surprise. “Cirilla is here? The girl once sought by the Lodge of Sorceresses and every ruler on the Continent has landed here, in Velen, and I know nothing of it? What is she doing here?”

Geralt leaned against the railing on the edge of the platform they were standing on. “Indications is she’s hiding from someone. I heard she quarreled with a witch, but if you know nothing…” He sighed. “Sure you haven’t seen her?”

“I’m certain I haven’t,” she paused. “But recently someone asked me about an ashen-haired woman. He claimed she would stand out from the peasant crowd.”

“Who was it?”

“Not so fast, Geralt.” Kiera stood. “No humble plea? No offering for the witch?”

“My undying gratitude. Good enough?”

“It’s nothing to sneeze at, but you’ve a knack for getting into trouble. I should probably ask for something immediately deliverable.”

Geralt gave her a look.

“Oh, sod it! Don’t give me that look. I know it’s Ciri we’re talking about. It was an elf, this individual asking about Cirilla. Not some flea-bitten Scoia’tael slob either, but an elven mage.”

“What was an elven mage doing in Velen?”

“Well, I tried to ask him, of course, about everything…”

“Of course.”

“But you know how elves are, he asked many more questions than he answered.”

“He say what his name was?”

“He didn’t. Wore a mask. Very secretive all around, but… I liked him. He was intelligent and composed.”

“He say what he wanted with Ciri?”

“Only they were to meet in Velen. He wished to know if she arrived before he did.”

“He leave a message for her?”

“No, but he asked that were I to meet her, I should lead her to him.”

“So you know where to find him.”

“Yes, he said he found a hideout in some elven ruins near Midcopse. I’ll go there with you.” She walked past Geralt.

“Why? Think I’ll have trouble finding this place?”

“I’ve unfinished business with this elf. He promised me something and he never delivered. Besides, I know you think as I do, that she might be there. And I’d like to see Cirilla too.”

“Lead the way.”

Kiera led Geralt to old elven ruins a couple hours south of Midcopse. “This is the place,” she said.

“Been here before?”

“No. I was hoping the elf would return as he’d promised, or his waif would appear. At any rate, I have no clue what to expect from this place.”

“Well, let’s find out.” The two entered the ruins, Kiera casting a spell to light their way. Across a ruined bridge stood three men in strange looking armor. Geralt immediately recognized the armor.

“The Wild Hunt,” he said.

“What?” Kiera responded. “Phantom Riders? But that means…” She looked at Geralt. “I thought they didn’t exist.”

Geralt motioned across the expanse as one opened a portal. “Feast your eyes on the nonexistent then.” The Wild Hunt walked through the portal. “Hmm. Got a navigator with them.”

“A what?”

Geralt moved forward, Kiera hesitantly following. “Can you teleport us to the other side?” Geralt couldn’t believe he was asking that. And judging by the surprised look on Kiera’s face, neither could she.

“I’d rather teleport us home. Do you really mean to follow them?”

“Teleport! Hurry up!”

“Not sure I like any of this.” She cast the portal and the two went through.

Geralt instantly regretted the decision when, instead of coming out on the other side of the bridge, he landed right in the middle of a drowner nest. He immediately cut down the drowners before they recovered from their surprise.

“Damn portals. Wonder where Kiera is now.” He followed the tunnel he was in and soon found the bridge they’d been on. After taking care of the drowners and the water hag there, he continued to look for the sorceress. “Kiera?” he called.

“Geralt!” Kiera screamed.

Geralt took off at a run, following her voice. He found Kiera with a protective shield around her and in full-blown panic with rats all around her.

“Geralt! Do something! They’re coming out of those holes over there!”

Geralt killed the rats coming after her and used Igni on their nests. Only when Geralt assured her the rats were dead and their nests destroyed would Kiera drop her shield.

“You that afraid of rats? Could have annihilated them with one spell.”

Kiera turned and gave him a look that told him she was not in the mood for his teasing.

“Fine. Won’t say anything. What happened to you?”

“There’s something here, something that distorts teleportation. I’ve no idea how they made it to the other side problem free.”

“Wild Hunt’s teleportation magic is different. Got specially trained mages for that, navigators the call them.”

“They can have three helmsmen and a parrot for all I care. I’ll not risk that again.”

“Let’s go. Wild Hunt got a good head start on us, but we still stand a chance.”

“Have you gone completely mad?” Kiera placed her fists on her hips. “We must leave here at once!”

“I gotta know what the Wild Hunt’s doing here.”

“But we came to find the elven mage, not fight the Hunt!”

“If they reach him first, we won’t get a chance to talk to him. Besides…” Geralt trailed off, which grabbed Kiera’s attention.

“Go on, finish. Wait… you’ve some special interest in the Hunt. Is this about Ciri? There’s something you’ve not told me, isn’t there?”

“Come with me and maybe I will.”

“Are you always like this? I’m beginning to feel sorry for Triss and Yen.”

Geralt gave her a look.

“Very well. Let’s go.”

They moved through the darkness, the only light being from Kiera’s spell. A projection suddenly appeared over a pedestal, a man wearing a mask and hood.

“I await you, Daughter of the Gull,” he said in elvish.

“That him!” Kiera exclaimed. “That’s the elf!”

“Follow the sign of your sword.” The projection disappeared.

“What was that?” Geralt asked. “An illusion?”

“No, a morphetic projection.”

“Message was definitely for Ciri. _Daughter of the Gull._ Lara Dorren’s heir.”

“Indeed. It’s what the elves would have titled Ciri. But what was the bit about the sign of her sword? A riddle?”

“Yeah, not a hard one though. Not if you know Ciri named her sword Zireael. Swallow.”

“Come now. Who besides you would know that?”

“Might’ve been the point. Your elven mage secured the passage, hid it so that only Ciri could find it.”

“He failed to foresee that someone like you would show up.”

“Nevertheless, I think he was expecting uninvited guests, made some preparations. Let’s hope the Wild Hunt ran into some obstacles.”

“Do you think following the swallows will suffice?”

“We’ll see.”

They moved farther down the hall and found themselves in an open watery area.

“An old elven port?” Kiera asked.

“Must’ve been how they got here by sea.”

“Wonder how long ago that was.”

They descended a set of stairs and Geralt noticed a yellow mist covering the ground. “Careful,” he warned. “That vapor is toxic.”

“I hardly need instruction from you,” Kiera snapped. “I recognized the vulpine morel immediately.”

“Vesemir told me that soon after he learned how to cast Igni, he tried it out on a patch of those mushrooms.”

“Terrible idea. What happened?”

“Well, he survived. And wounds heal quickly on young Witchers. Come on.”

Juray had heard that story and dared Lambert into doing the same thing. It led to one of the worst fights between the two that Geralt had seen and Vesemir had to keep the two separated for a couple of months. Geralt would have bet coin that Lambert still hadn’t forgiven Juray for that. Geralt led the way, using Aard to clear a path through the mushrooms, a trick both he and Juray discovered would work. Past the mushrooms, they came upon a swallow carved into the rock face.

“A swallow!” Kiera pointed out. “At least we’re going in the right direction.” They followed the swallows until they came upon another projection.

“Swallow, the obvious route is not always the best. Find Kelpie.” The projection disappeared again.

“Kelpie?” Kiera asked. “Does he mean the sea monster?”

“No, that’s what Ciri named her mare. Horse could apparently gallop like a demon.”

“Good name for a horse. So, shall we look for it?”

Around them were several carvings and Kiera examined each one. “Here’s a Kelpie.” Kiera turned at hearing a splash and seeing Geralt was missing. “Geralt?”

“There’s a horse carving down here.”

Kiera looked over the edge of a barrier to see Geralt in a pool of water. “What the hell are you doing?”

“The obvious route is not always the best. I’ll be back.”

“Geralt!”

The Witcher dove under the water and looked around, finding an underwater passage. He followed it, finding a set of stairs that led to an engraving of another horse. He touched it and it glowed for a moment before he heard Kiera shout.

“Geralt! I don’t know what you did, but it worked. Come back here!” She nearly jumped out of her skin when Geralt landed next to her from somewhere above her. She pointed once she realized it was the Witcher. “Look, they’re opening.”

A doorway appeared next to the pedestal the projection had been on. They went through the doorways until they came to what looked like another dead end to the untrained eye. What looked like an archway was painted onto the wall with a swallow on top of it.

“Well, now I know what distorted my effort at teleportation.” Kiera motioned at the archway. “It was this portal.”

“And I know why I landed in that drowner nest.”

“You should be pleased you emerged from the portal in one piece.”

“And everyone still wonders why I hate being teleported.”

“We have to try to activate it.” Kiera looked around the room for a clue on how to open the portal.

Geralt studied the portal, noticing something etched into the stone next to it. He reached up to clean away some moss, the shape of a swallow lighting up beneath his fingers and the portal opening.

“What did you do?”

“Found a carved swallow.” He looked at the portal like it was a monster. “Is it safe?”

“Of course. The elven mage prepared it for Ciri. Come on.” Kiera walked through and Geralt reluctantly followed.

Neither of them liked how silent it was when they emerged and they soon found out why when they came across a golem. It was still for several moments before it came to life.

“Zireael not recognized,” it boomed. “Destroy the intruders!”

Geralt held its attention, casting Aard to throw it off balance from time to time, while Kiera used her magic against it. Between them, it fell. But not before knocking Geralt halfway across the room.

“I knew we would manage,” Kiera said chippily.

“That so?” Geralt gave a grunt as he painfully pulled himself to his feet. “Be sure to tell me beforehand next time.”

“My intuition is a fine instrument, Witcher. Don’t underestimate it. I’ve some very good feeling about you, for instance. In several domains.”

“Mhm…” They continued past the golem’s room.

“When you find Ciri, what will you do? Any plans?”

“Depends what she wants.”

“Imagined it? How it will… transpire? What will she say? What will she look like?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry. For getting ahead of myself. Sometimes I forget… we hardly know each other. Certainly not enough to discuss personal matters.”

“Not to worry. We’ll get there.” Geralt walked into another room that seemed a dead end and was about to backtrack when he noticed the same arch painted on the wall. “Another portal.”

“Activate it quickly! I have a feeling another golem’s about to ambush us.”

Geralt did the exact same thing he did to the earlier portal, brushing his fingers against the etching on the left side, activating it. They went through this one as well, Geralt silently cursing the mage’s use of portals.


	11. Following the Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's search in the ruins leads to a new clue. Juray accepts a Contract for a missing woman.

“Look,” Kiera pointed out. “We’ve managed to cross the bridge. This is where we saw the Wild Hunt.”

“Great,” Geralt grouched. “Means they’re way ahead of us. Come on.”

They turned the corner to find several frozen golems.

“Wild Hunt. Definitely.”

“They destroyed the mage’s sentries," Kiera observed. "They didn’t come here for a friendly chat with the elf.”

“Meaning you ever thought they might’ve?”

They passed by one.

“Frozen before they could attack.”

They went through a doorway to see they’d somewhat caught up with the Hunt. The navigator was using his magic to break through a wall. Geralt jogged down the stairs next to them. By the time they reached the bottom, two of the Hunt had moved on, while the mage seemed to be waiting for them. He cast a spell, causing ice to form along the walls and ceilings, along with a blizzard wind to come from three portals.

“What is this?” Kiera asked, shouting to be heard over the wind.

“The White Frost! Mage from the Hunt summoned it! Can you seal those portals?”

“They’re too far! I’ll need to get closer! I can shield us with Demetia Crest’s Surge! Stay close to me!”

Kiera cast her spell and they ventured down into the blizzard. As she set to work closing the first portal, frost-covered hounds emerged and bolted towards her. Geralt drew his silver sword and stepped in front of her, defending her as she worked. They repeated this twice more until all the portals were closed. Kiera dropped the shield and slightly wobbled, Geralt noticing.

“Kiera? You okay?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’ll pass.” Her voice sounded distant as Geralt sheathed his sword. “That took… a great deal of Power.”

Geralt caught her as fell. “If you can’t go on…”

“You can’t leave me here.”

“I’d never do that. Love to say we could stay here a while and rest…”

“I know. I know. We must go on.” Kiera steadied herself and pushed off Geralt once she felt she could stand on her own.

The two walked to the place they’d seen the Wild Hunt and Geralt growled.

“They blocked the passage.” He held his hand up, preparing to cast Igni. “Perhaps I can—”

“Leave it to me.” Before Geralt could protest, Kiera sent a magical blast into the barrier, shattering it. “If we hurry, we might still catch them!”

“Thanks for your help,” Geralt said. “Pretty tough slog.”

“Good thing I came with you, then. You’d never have managed without me, would you? Come now, admit it!”

“Yeah. Never.”

They came into view of another room to see one of the warriors waiting.

“He awaits us.”

The warrior approached them, a heavy two-handed axe in his hand. “You are stubborn, dh’oine.”

Kiera looked up at Geralt to see he’d locked eyes with the warrior with a challenging look on his face. “Geralt, I shall help you.”

“Step back,” he answered, drawing his silver sword.

“Stop telling me what to do.”

The warrior leapt forward, Geralt blocking the blow with his superhuman reflexes. “I wonder how long you shall last!” the warrior taunted.

“Longer than you’ll live!”

The warrior focused on Geralt, completely ignoring Kiera. The Witcher and the Phantom Rider danced around each other, exchanging blows. Until the warrior cast a shield of ice around himself just as Geralt was landing a blow. The blow caused him to fly backward and land on his back.

“Geralt!” Kiera called.

“Focus on him!”

“He’s opening portals!”

Geralt regained his footing and attacked the hounds while Kiera focused on damaging his shield. When the shield exploded outwards, the two focused on the warrior again. This went on a few more times before the warrior went after Geralt in a flurry of blows that the Witcher danced around to avoid, noting the weak spot at the base of his helm. The warrior brought his axe down and Geralt dived forward, the axe barely missing him. He landed on his shoulder and rolled, regaining his footing with a speed neither Kiera nor the warrior could follow, bringing his sword around and slicing through the space between his armor and helm, severing the back of his neck. The warrior fell and moved no more.

“Are you well and whole?” Kiera asked. “I feared…”

“Unnecessarily.” He noticed what looked like a laboratory of some kind nearby and nodded his head towards it. “Let’s look around.”

“If I’ve my knickers on straight, this looks like the elf’s laboratory.”

“You wear knickers?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Geralt!”

Geralt smirked as he sheathed his sword and followed her, another projection appearing.

The elf’s message was in Common this time. “Zireael, this place is no longer safe. Do not tarry here long. Trust no one, and above all beware the witches of Crookback Bog. Try to reach the place where last we were together.” The projection disappeared.

“ _Where last we were together._ Not much to go on.” Geralt commented. He walked away, rubbing his forehead. “Damnit!”

“Perhaps it’s best he didn’t leave a clearer message,” Kiera said, Geralt turning towards her. “The Wild Hunt broke in here, surely they saw the projection.”

“They searched everything,” he said, noting the mess. “And if they had more time, they’d have probably torn the place to the ground. But that doesn’t change the fact that we haven’t learned anything, not about the elf, not about Ciri.” Geralt turned away and headed to a nearby table, leaning on it.

“Well, we know they were well acquainted and they traveled together.”

Geralt straightened to regard Kiera. “Wonder why they split up.”

“Perhaps because the Wild Hunt was on the elf’s trail, and Ciri would be safer if they did.”

Geralt thought back on the elf’s warning. “The witches of Crookback Swamp…”

“Crookback Bog,” Kiera corrected.

Geralt’s golden eyes looked over at her. “Kiera, if you’re hiding something…” His voice had a tone of warning to it.

“But… I didn’t say…”

“You know these witches?”

“I’ve never met them, but I’ve read about them. In an old tome I found in an abandoned hut in the village. It mentioned the village witches venturing into Crookback Bog at times, to liaise between the villagers and the Crones, the Ladies of the Wood. The Crones appear to be intolerant to outsiders, but they help the local folk. Apparently, they stopped the spread of the plague in Velen.”

“What’s your take on this?”

“I’d love to shrug it off as the nattering of so many old women, yet…” she paused a moment. “Throughout my first fortnight in Velen, I had horrible nightmares. Something was calling me out into the swamps. One night, I decided to enter the dream consciously, render it lucid. I confronted the thing directly. It broke contact at once. Peaceful nights ever since.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Geralt advanced on her. “I told you Ciri had a run-in with a witch.”

Kiera backed away. “I had no idea you meant them… If I’d told you something, you would have rushed off to find them. But we needed first to confirm that Ciri was here, didn’t we?”

Geralt gave a growl and turned away from her.

“I shall tell you everything now, of course.”

“Now?! After I safely led you through the cave?”

“I can’t believe you’d think so poorly of me. Perhaps you do bear a grudge against sorceresses.”

“Can’t imagine where that comes from.” A hurt look came across Kiera’s face, which Geralt ignored. “How do I find them?”

“The swamps are vast, dangerous, but they say the Crones mark the way for peasants to visit them. There’s a small chapel and from there you must follow the Trail of Treats.”

“Treats?”

“Of course, they didn’t read you bedtime stories at Kaer Morhen. All normal folk know that witches live in gingerbread houses poised atop of chicken legs.”

“I’ll have to see that to believe it.”

“I’ll give you the book once we find a way to get out of here.”

They searched around the walls until Geralt’s medallion started trembling when he drew close to one of the walls. “Strange,” he observed. “Medallion’s trembling, but there’s nothing here.”

“It has to be an illusion,” Kiera said, digging through the pack at her side. “I expected we would run into something like this,” She pulled a flat disk with intricate carvings on it and held it out to Geralt. “The Eye of Nehaleni. It dispels illusions. It’s easy enough to build so you’re welcome to this one.”

Geralt held it up to the wall, the illusion fading before their eyes and revealing a doorway leading to more passages. “Shall we?”

After helping Kiera find a magic lamp the elf promised her, the two emerged from the cave.

“At last,” Kiera breathed. “But it was worth it right? You learned something about Ciri in the end, something important.” She turned to Geralt. “Do you still intend to venture into Crookback Bog?”

“I do.”

“Then come back to my hut and I’ll give you that book you need. Wouldn’t want you to go in blindly.” Kiera opened a portal and Geralt groaned. “Come now, Geralt. I promise you won’t land in a drowner nest this time.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise.” He followed Kiera through the portal, emerging in her hut.

She went through her book collection before finding the tome and handing it to Geralt. He read through it while Kiera studied the lamp.

Satisfied with how to find the Trail of Treats and the Crones, Geralt set the book down. “Thank you, Kiera. I’ll take my leave now.”

“So soon?” Kiera pouted. “You must tell me about it afterward.”

“Don’t know that I’ll get the chance.”

“Geralt, there are two types of men: those that see opportunity and take advantage, and those who forge the opportunities themselves. I’ve always seen you as an example of the latter. Besides, I’ve a favor to ask you. So, visit me some time?”

“I’ll try.”

“In that case, I’ll be waiting.”

“See you, Kiera.” Geralt left the hut and looked for Roach, who was happily nibbling on some grass nearby. “Come on, Roach. We got some witches to find.”

Juray looked over the notices on the board at Inn of the Crossroads.

“Crazy warning poem,” she muttered out loud. “Buy your drinks with crowns. Need help with a burial. Need a guide out of Velen. Good luck with that. People still celebrate Forefathers’ Eve? Thought that was dead. Now this one seems promising.” Her attention was now on a plea for help from a hunter named Neillen. His wife had gone missing and he was desperate to find her and willing to pay anything. “Looks like I’m heading to Blackbough.”

She turned to retrieve Shadowmount, who had wandered a few steps away to drink from the trough by the inn. Juray let her drink, looking towards the horizon. The sun was setting and she did not think it wise to travel these lands after dark. Instead, she left Shadowmount at the inn’s stable and headed inside. The patrons stared at her as she made her way to the bar.

The innkeeper did a double take when he saw her. “Do ye have a brother?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“White-haired fellow with the same eyes as you wearing that same wolf head pendant came here not too long ago. Asking after a merchant over the hill.”

“Did you happen to get his name?”

“Nay, sorry, lass.”

“Well, I’m looking for room for the night. I’ll be gone at dawn.” Juray dropped crowns on the bar. “I’ll pay in advance, don’t worry.”

The innkeeper nodded, taking her coin. “I’ll show you to your room.”

“Oi! Innkeep!” a man shouted, drunkenly. “Who’s this? I ain’t seen her around ‘ere before.”

Juray looked over her shoulder to see several men in the local Baron’s colors. “Just passing through, soldier,” she said, not wanting to cause trouble.

“Ain’t never seen a woman carry one sword, let alone two. Think you got a prick in your pants?”

The innkeeper seemed to freeze.

“Well, what’s in my pants is no concern of yours, but how about I buy you and your friends a round?”

“How about we go a round with you?”

One of his friends pulled him back. “Shove it, you dumb prick. That’s a Witcher yer talkin’ to.”

“Pick your poison, boys,” Juray said with a smile.

“Another round of vodka,” the second man said.

“And you in my lap,” the first laughed.

“Seriously, man. Knock it off for she spanks you like a Novigrad whore.”

The mental image of that caused Juray to smirk. “You should listen to your friend.”

The innkeeper brought the drinks and passed them around.

“Cheers. To all our healths.” Juray downed the shot, setting her glass on the table. The others drank their shots. “I take my leave. A pleasant night to you, boys.” She turned and walked away, the innkeeper quickly leading her to the upper level of the inn.

“You Witchers sure know when to stay your hands.”

“Some of us do.”

“Thank you for that. Would hate to have to clean body parts out the chandeliers.”

Juray chuckled. “I’m sure.” She went into the room and shut the door.

As she promised, Juray left at dawn and headed out of town without incident. By midday, she reached Blackbough. A merchant directed him to Neillen’s hut. The man sitting outside looked up at her.

“Looking for a hunter named Neillen,” she said.

“Found him. What do you want?”

“Here about your notice.” Neillen opened his mouth and Juray motioned to her medallion. “I’m a Witcher.”

Neillen closed his mouth.

“When was the last time you saw your wife?”

“Five days past, ‘fore dawn. Were on my way out to hunt, she were asleep. I come back and found no sign of her.”

“Notice anything strange? Maybe her behavior?”

Neillen shook his head. “No, she were her happy, smilin’ self. Nothin’ different of late. And she’s not run off, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Maybe she went to the neighboring village, forgot to tell you?”

“No,” a woman’s voice said. Juray turned to see a young woman, a sun hat in her hands. “My sister were never gone this long before.”

“Tried looking for her?”

“Asked around the village, none saw ‘er go. She must’ve left while they were still sleepin’. Told her time and again not to wander off on her own. She never listened.”

“I mustered some men to scour the woods,” Neillen added. “Nothin’.”

“I’ll look in the woods,” Juray said. “Might’ve missed something.” She looked around. “Ask around, too. She have any friends?”

“But…”

“Hanna kept… keeps… to herself mostly,” the sister said before Neillen could finish his protest. “Watches the blacksmith’s young ‘uns atimes. And in the village, Glenna, the butcher’s wife, she likes her best.”

“Thanks.” Juray looked at Neillen. “I’ll try to find her, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I just want to know what happened to her.”

“Butcher lives on the hill behind us,” the sister added. “The blacksmith is on the other side of the village.”

Juray nodded before turning away, something about the sister not sitting right with her.


	12. The Trail of Treats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt comes across a strange old woman and her grandchildren. Juray's Contract takes a suspicious turn.

Geralt found the chapel the book spoke of. At least what the book was calling a chapel. In truth, it was just a shrine, covered in cookies and other treats. He crouched, picking one up and crushing it in his hand, all manner of grubs crawling across his glove.

“So this is the Trail of Treats,” he said.

This was very much like the tale of Hansel and Gretel, lost children that followed a similar trail to be murdered by a child-hating hag, who coincidently thought their blood would make her younger. A cautionary tale for children not to wander the woods alone. Geralt followed the trail and saw how it was literally a trail of treats. He soon found himself in a small village.

“Dog went in the kitchen,” a boy was singing.

“Stole a hunk of meat.” A little girl followed.

“Cook gave him a lickin’, strung him by his feet.”

Another boy took up the rhyme. “Cook then bled him empty, stripped his skin off clean.”

Geralt turned a corner as a second girl said the next line. “Laughed and said, ‘How tasty, best sausage I have seen!’”

“Cook’s a stupid killer, shouldn’t have ate the pup.”

“Now we’ll light a fire, gonna roast him up!”

“One, two, three, the one to fetch the kindling’s… thee!” Five children were reciting the rhyme and they all stopped when they saw Geralt.

“Interesting rhyme,” he commented.

“Don’t know you,” a little blond-haired girl said. “Go away!”

“A young woman got lost in the swamp. She has ashen hair and a scar on her face. You kids see anyone like that?”

“Ain’t no lassies here,” a little boy said.

“What am I?” The blond girl asked.

“You’re no lassie. Lassies got tits!”

Geralt was a bit surprised that a boy his age would say something like that. At least a non-Witcher training boy.

“They do,” another boy confirmed. “Heard an ‘ol man say once, when the army was here, he says, ‘Hide them lasses in the woods. They’s dazzling the soldiers with their tits, and it’s torturing the poor lads!’ That’s what he said.”

“Listen,” Geralt cut off any more talk of tits. “This girl is in trouble. I understand you might not want to help me, but you could try to help her.”

“How do you know she was here?” the first boy asked.

“I heard she visited the witches in the swamp.”

“But there’s no witches here,” the second boy said.

“There’s only frogs,” the blond girl said.

“And snakes,” the first boy added.

“And Johnny,” the second boy said.

“What’s this talk?” an old woman said, walking up to them. “What kind a’ jabbering is this? Eh?”

The kids went silent.

The old woman turned to Geralt. “No one allowed here! Just kids. My kids, they’re allowed. But who are you? Wearing swords, like a bandit?”

“You look after these kids?”

“They’re my grandchildren.”

“Gran’s good to us,” the first boy defended her. “Gonna be soup with scratchings for supper!”

“Kids get lost in the woods… I miss ‘em… Seen ‘em in the woods? No one has.”

“Who’s Johnny?”

“Johnny, Johnny, ate a cat,” the second boy said with a grin. “Come the morn some fur he shat!”

“Watch your language!” Gran scolded. “They tells tales and tales. Naught but tales.”

“Just talking to the kids. Asked them if they’d seen a young woman.”

“I was a lovely young woman. Wore a long beautiful braid my mummy did up for me. Had dresses with flowers on ‘em.”

“Maybe you’ve seen her. Young… Ashen hair.”

“Your betrothed?”

“Daughter, actually.”

“Daughter… my dear sweet little daughter and her sister. Where are they now? Maybe they’ve come to some harm…?”

Geralt realized this woman’s cheese was no longer on her cracker. “A bit of help, please? A young, ashen-haired woman. I just need to know if you’ve seen her.”

Gran turned to the children. “What are you looking at, children? Wash your hands, we’ll go catch crickets.”

“Won’t learn anything from you.”

“Aye, ‘cause I don’t know nothin’”

“Bet Johnny knows,” The second boy said. “He knows a lot. When I ask ‘im somethin’, he says, ‘Wait, I’ll scratch my arse and tell ya.’”

“Ugly word!” Gran said. “What’re saying?” She pointed. “To the hut. You’ll stand in a corner. I’ll make sure you do.” The boy headed to the hut and Gran looked at Geralt. “You, begone. Begone!”

Geralt convinced the kids to distract Gran so he could talk to their friend in exchange for playing hide-and-seek with them, as their grandmother never would play with them. Geralt couldn’t help but smile at their excitement. After the game, the kids did as they promised.

One of the boys ran up to the house while Geralt watched from around the house.

“Gran!” the boy cried. “Gran! Bumblebee bit Yagna in the arse! Gran, come!”

Gran came out and headed towards the children. Geralt waited until Gran was away from the hut before slipping inside. The boy’s eyes widened and he backed away from the Witcher.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“Don’t know nothin’,” he said, looking down.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“Where’s Gran?”

Geralt knelt down to be level with the boy. “She’s busy. Why are you scared to talk?”

“I’m not scared of nothin’!” he said, stomping his feet.

“All of you are scared of something. Woulda told me about Johnny otherwise.”

“I’m worried about Johnny. He don’t come ‘round here no more. Once when we was mushroom pickin’, I saw his burrow. But Gran yelled at me. Says not to talk to strangers. ‘cause then kids go missin’. She worries about Johnny too, though she says he’s made up.”

“I just want to talk to Johnny. He could know more than you.”

“Not gonna hurt ‘im, right? ‘Cause, he’s real, not made up.”

“I’m not gonna hurt him. Promise.”

“Johnny used to be by, ‘cause Gran liked listenin’ to his songs. When we was pickin’ mushrooms, Johnny said he saw a girl with ashen hair in the swamp.”

“Where can I find Johnny?”

“There’s a little meadow on the edge of the swamp. This strange tree grows there. Look around, you’ll see ‘im.”

“Thank you.” Geralt left the hut.

Gran’s back was to him as he emerged, the kids arguing over who was the last one to say “arse”, the blond girl crying and Gran demanding that a girl with brown braids apologize to her. The girl saw Geralt and he nodded at her. She then apologized to the blond girl for saying mean things to her as Geralt made his way into the swamp.

Finding the meadow and tree the boy spoke of, Geralt tracked Johnny to his burrow using his footprints. Once there, Geralt crouched in front of it.

“Johnny?” he called.

A few moments passed before a blue-tinged face with big yellow eyes peeked around the corner. Seeing Geralt, Johnny disappeared back around the corner.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Johnny seemed to change his mind about Geralt and decided to come out. He had the appearance of a 10-year-old boy with bluish skin and black hair, twigs forming a crown around his head. He had a red bandana around his shoulders and a loincloth around his waist. Geralt could tell immediately the boy wasn’t human.

“You’re a bucca?”

Johnny shook his head.

“A lutin?”

He shook his head again.

“Ah, a godling.”

Johnny smiled and nodded his head.

“Not many of you left.”

Godlings were extremely rare relict-class creatures, mischievous but harmless and mostly kept to the woodland areas.

“I’m looking for a woman with ashen hair. Seen her?”

Johnny nodded.

“Tell me everything, from the start. Where did you see her, what was she doing? It’s very important to me.”

A sad look crossed Johnny’s face and he shook his head.

“Why not?”

Johnny covered his mouth with one hand and pointed at it with the other.

“Can’t talk?”

Johnny nodded.

“Why?”

Johnny started making random gestures.

“Lost your voice?”

Johnny nodded.

“Can I help you somehow?”

Johnny grabbed Geralt’s hand and tugged. Geralt stood with a grunt and Johnny led him through the swamp to a cliffy area. Johnny pointed to the top of the cliff.

“Something’s on the ledge that can get your voice back?”

Johnny nodded.

“Looks like I’m climbing.”

Johnny grinned and nodded, seemingly happy for the help. Geralt found a way to the top of the cliff and found a bottle in an old harpy nest. He returned to Johnny and handed him the bottle. Johnny took it excitedly before struggling to open it. Just as Geralt was about to offer to open it for him, the top came off and a breeze seemed to come out of it.

“Whiskey!” Johnny said, gleefully. “Slither! Ringworm! Rubbish! Bumblebee! Flabbergasted!” He laughed. “The sound of it! Peter Piper picked Prince Proximo a peck of pickled peppers by the Pontar!” He laughed again, amusing Geralt with his antics.

“Done celebrating?”

“My favorite words. Life without savoring the sound of ‘surrpendious shannacking’ is like licking snails through cloth. Thank you for this, noble whoever-you-are. Long be your life.” Johnny turned to leave.

“Hang on a minute,” Geralt stopped him. “I helped you, now you help me.”

“Would you turn this beautiful act of altruism into a banal bartering of favors?”

“How’d you lose your voice?”

“One morning I awoke and opened my mouth for my usual bout of singing with the thrushes. Lo and behold, no sound escaped. I tried and tried, almost burst a blood vessel. Then I went to the village, ‘cause word has it the new cunning woman works miracles. But people began crying out ‘a smudger! A smudger!’ and sicced their dogs on me.” Johnny crossed his arms. “Do I look like a smudger to you?”

“Not a bit.”

Smudgers, like godlings, were mischievous, but their mischief usually led to injuries. Not to mention they were mud brown and looked like hunched over old men.

“I thought not. So it must be the Crones’ doing. Who else would curse me? Blackbird friend of mine located my voice, but I was helpless to retrieve it.”

“Couldn’t ask a raven friend to just give you the bottle?”

“Ravens serve the Crones. They don’t help no one.”

“How do you lock someone’s voice in a bottle? Just wondering.”

“As am I! Especially as mine’s a voice to crown all voices. Sometimes it’s like a forest brook, at others a roll of thunder. And let’s be honest, I talk enough to fill three barrels and more.”

“Somebody used some powerful magic on you, as a prank or just to be mean. You said you saw the ashen-haired woman.”

“Remember it as if it were yesterday. Soon as I awoke, went to empty my bowels. My favorite part of the day. Defecatin’ to the sunrise, downright glorious. Suddenly, I heard a bang, so loud I knew it couldn’t have been me. And that lass appeared, out of nowhere! Young, ashen-haired, just like you said. Wounded, and panting to boot.”

Geralt’s brows furrowed. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“She raced off towards the children’s huts. Quick, as if the Crones were after her. I yelled unpleasantries after her, she’d disturbed my morn. Don’t think she heard me, though.”

“I’ve been to the village in the swamp, met a woman who might’ve been a Crone.”

“Did she seem… confused to you?”

“Nuts. Completely.”

“So I’m not crazy. That’s no Crone. That’s the granny who takes care of the orphans. Claims the kids made me up. Me!”

“What do you know about the Crones?”

“They’re as old as this forest. Cruel, vindictive… not to be crossed.”

“What if someone does cross them?”

“Might take his voice, might take his life, depends on their whim. They’re nasty, although they do take care of this land and its folk in their own way. Supposedly they always keep their word, you just have to be careful what you ask for. Won’t find them unless they want to be found, see them until they want to be seen. But remember, they see and hear all that happens in the mire.”

Geralt nodded. “The woman ran off towards the orphanage. Maybe the kids do know something, or Gran.”

“That old hag don’t speak to strangers. And you’re a stranger.”

“Will she talk to you?”

“I have spoken to her, got my ways.” Johnny smiled. “So be it. You helped me, and I’m no boor. Come on!” Johnny ran through the swamp, Geralt following after him.

~~~

After speaking to Glenna and the blacksmith, Juray ventured into the forest to track down Hanna, fighting off a pack of wolves not long after entering.

“Witcher?”

Juray turned to find that Hanna’s sister had followed her into the woods. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be in the forest alone.”

“I came to tell you, you needn’t look for Hanna. She’d’ve returned long past were she alive. I’ll pay you twice Neillen’s pledge, just to tell the man his Hanna’s dead.”

“Are you daft? You want me to give up looking for your sister? Don’t you want to know what happened?” Juray thought the whole thing smelt fishy.

“I’ve no illusion, Witcher. In Velen, you’re gone as long as she’s been, you don’t come back. Hanna’s dead for certain. Neillen ought to accept that and move on with his life.”

Juray crossed her arms. “Most people would prefer to know the fate of their loved ones, whatever the cost. I would.”

“What good will it do? I’ll not get my sister back, and Neillen’s all I got left. I can’t lose him too. And, well, he’ll not rest til he avenges his Hanna, even if it eats up his life. The man deserves better.”

“The man deserves to know what happened to his wife.”

The sister frowned. “You’ll still look for her, even with me offering twice the coin.”

“Yep.”

“Folk speak true about you Witchers, you’re heartless beasts!” She turned and stormed off.

“Apparently not as heartless as you are.” Juray was now suspecting that Hanna had been a victim of foul play and was determined to find out the truth.

Near the wolves, she found deep claw marks and a dog that had been torn to shreds. She sniffed the air, having caught the scent of human blood. She followed the smell and soon found the pieces of what she was sure had been a woman.

“This must be Hanna. Literally torn to pieces. Has to be a werewolf.”

She searched the area until she found large paw prints that led to a tree and a tuft of fur. Since the werewolf seemed to have climbed the tree, she used scent to track the werewolf to a hunter’s cabin. Inside, Juray searched for clues, finding the werewolf’s journal. He apparently locked himself in the cellar around the full moon to protect the rest of the village from his curse. Juray sighed.

“And tonight is a full moon,” she said. “Gotta prepare, then wait for the bastard downstairs. Apparently, he didn’t lock himself tight enough and killed Hanna.” She then frowned. “Wonder if the sister knew about this.”

Juray prepared for her fight, then went to the cellar to wait for the werewolf’s arrival.


	13. The Crones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juray uncovers a strange love triangle. Geralt accepts a Contract from the Crones of Velen.

The werewolf collapsed and just as Juray was about to finish him off, the sister ran in.

“No!” she screamed. “Don’t hurt him!”

“Are you insane!? Get out of here!”

“It’s Neillen!”

“Lycanthropy can affect anyone. It’s a curse, I can’t…”

“You don’t understand! I love him! He was near to being mine until you came along! Go away! Leave us be!”

“What the fuck kind of love triangle did I walk in on?”

“I love him, always have. Even after I learned his secret.”

Neillen looked up at her. “You… you knew? Did you know I shut meself in here to wait out me change?”

“I knew and I didn’t mind. But you chose Hanna. I wanted her to see you. I wanted her to fear you. She wouldn’t have stayed. And we could be together.”

“You brought her here? That night? ‘Twas the reason I had the taste of blood in me mouth come morn.”

“I did it for us!”

“She was your sister, Margot! You killed my Hanna!”

“She was to see you turn, naught more. I didn’t want her death, you’ve got to believe me!”

“I don’t. And I’ll kill you willingly. First time for that, in fact.”

“I’m done with this lover’s spat.” Juray sheathed her silver sword and turned. “But if I see you again, I’ll kill you, Neillen. Keep your coin.” Juray walked away.

“No! Mercy!”

“You had no mercy for your sister. I have none for you.”

Juray reached the cellar door as Margot’s bloodcurdling screams were cut off. She was heading back to the village when she felt Neillen behind her. She drew her silver sword and spun around, thinking he was coming after her. But instead, he only crouched several feet away.

“I told you I’d kill you if I saw you again.”

“I know. I want you to do it.”

This took Juray by surprise. “Suicide by Witcher? That’s a first.”

“Tried it by my own hand. Couldn’t do it. Please, kill me. I tried to protect my Hanna from my curse, but Margot’s jealousy made sure I didn’t. I’m a monster. And Witchers kill monsters. Do it.”

“As you wish.”

Neillen didn’t move as Juray took his head.

~~~

Arriving back at the swamp orphanage, Johnny looked around. The kids were nowhere in sight and Gran was outside, sweeping off the porch and muttering to herself.

“Good, it’s clear,” the godling said. “Not a Crone in sight. I need to sing for Gran, that oughta calm her.” Johnny walked over to a boulder in the middle of the clearing the huts surrounded and sat in the grass next to it. “Little Johnny softly gazing, fire waning, pale.”

Gran stopped sweeping and froze.

“Pop! A spark jumped out and whispered,” Gran turned and saw Johnny. “Listen, I’ve a tale.”

Gran walked over to Johnny and he looked up at her. “You… got your voice back?”

Johnny stood. “I did! Though I seem to have lost an octave somewhere in the process. I shall look for it when I get home.”

“You’re not allowed here, Johnny. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Calm down, Gran. Don’t get angry, it’s not good for you.”

She finally noticed Geralt standing nearby and gave him a hard look.

“The woman I asked about earlier…,” he said.

“Forgive me, Gran, but this fellow absolutely must speak to the Ladies.”

“No,” Gran said. “’Tis not allowed.” She turned away.

“Please,” Geralt hoped manners would convince her. “It’s important.”

“The fellow will be quiet,” Johnny said, giving Geralt a look. “Just hear me out, Gran. I found little Yagna when she got lost, did I not? Did I break Genny’s fever too? I did. I ask anything in return? No. Didn’t even fuss about my stolen voice. Well, now I want something. Gran, help this fellow. Because otherwise, he’ll pester me day and night, even durin’ potty time.”

Gran turned back towards them.

“His lass is missing, mayhap the Ladies can help find her, eh?”

Gran sighed, then looked at Johnny. “Well, since you put it that way, Johnny, I’ll help him.” She looked at Geralt. “Come with me.” She turned and headed towards one of the huts.

Geralt looked down at Johnny and nodded his head in thanks. Johnny smiled up at him before turning and running off into the swamp.

As they walked into the hut, Gran chatted with Geralt. “Johnny’s a good, good lad,” she said as Geralt took in his surroundings. “Though the Ladies don’t like him. ‘Foul creature,’ they say. Don’t like him.” They stopped in front of a tapestry of three beautiful women.

“Who are the women in the tapestry?” Geralt asked.

“Those’re the Ladies.” Gran stepped towards the tapestry. “Ladies lovely, with power o’er all. Beseech I thee, answer my call. Before you a worm crawls, wretched and small.” Gran placed a hand on the tapestry. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, a voice not her own passing through her lips. “How dare you disturb our rest, woman?”

Geralt stepped forward. “I’m looking for the woman with ashen hair,” he said. “I know you met her. Where is she?”

“Ooooh, he’s impatient,” a second voice said. “Perhaps he only likes ashen-haired girls?”

“The young woman… she is my daughter by choice. I raised her.”

The second voice laughed. “If she’s shapely, what does it matter?”

“Matters to me.”

“I believe we’ve hit a nerve,” a third more muffled voice said. “He’s bubbling like well-fed yeast.” It was true. They had hit a nerve.

“Oooh,” the second said. “That’s how I likes them.”

“It’s clear you’ve met her,” Geralt said. “Tell me everything.”

“That was blunt,” the first voice said. “Well, it’s perhaps for the best. Tell me, have you got bollocks? Do you fear woodland beasts?”

“Oh, hard times are upon us, White Haired One,” the second said. “Brother has turned against brother, the land soaked in blood. Evil reigns stronger than before.”

“A dark power has surfaced near Downwarren,” the third voice said. “It feeds on hatred and disdain. Destroy the beast, and we will be grateful, tell you all we know about this ashen-haired maid.”

“Dark power?” Geralt asked, crossing his arms. “You need a knight-errant, or a witch hunter, not a Witcher.”

“The ealdorman of Downwarren will tell you all,” the first voice said. “Remember to collect payment from him after you’ve completed your task. And now our servant will bring you the dagger.”

“I’ll talk to the ealdorman, but I’ll promise nothing.”

“Move, woman!” the second shouted. “Give the young man the dagger.”

“And you, White One,” the first said. “Return only when you’ve completed your task.”

Gran stepped back and shook her head. “Aye, mistress. Right. On my way.” She turned away and stepped towards a nearby shelf. “Dagger. Gotta bring the dagger.” She found what she was looking for. “The dagger.” She walked over to Geralt and held it out to him. It was a simple dagger and to the naked eye didn’t look special, but the Witcher could feel the magic in it. “For you. Ladies told me to give it to you. Here it is. The dagger.”

Geralt took it and slipped it into the pack at his hip.

“Place the ealdorman’s payment on the stone.” She turned away. “Stone bare, stone shear.” She shuffled away. “Stone knows, stone hears.” If Geralt had doubted before, he now knew for a fact that Gran was batshit crazy. He left the hut and the village.

Geralt arrived at the village of Downwarren and looked around for anyone that could be the ealdorman. A young woman pointed him out for him and Geralt approached a middle-aged man with a receding hairline.

“Nice village,” he said.

“Aye.”

“Real pearl of the swamps.”

“If you say so.”

“You get by all right?”

“Aye, winter to winter, we survive somehow.”

Geralt pulled the dagger from his side pack. “Recognize this?”

“Aye, master.”

Geralt replaced it into the pack.

“I didn’t know you belonged to them.”

“Don’t belong to anyone. Down to business, I want to get this done quickly.”

“Ah, so that’s how it’s to be.”

“I’m supposed to help solve your problem. Tell me what it is, just the essentials.”

“The war awoke an ancient power. An evil one that feeds on bloodshed. Nightmares haunt our nights and days. Folk sleepwalk from their homes, never to return.” The ealdorman turned and motioned to a tree on the nearby hill. “Under the tree on the Whispering Hillock, they lie, unburied all. Fathers, sons, mothers, daughters. Folk’re afeared to move them.” He turned back to Geralt. “You must go there. The dark powers must be cast off.”

“When did all this start?”

“Three years back. I remember, ‘twas a warm day, went to check the snares for game. Pulled a hare from me trap. It grew dark all of a sudden, though it was nigh on noontime. Thought it was a storm at first. A squeal pierced the air, near burst me ears. The hare rotted in me hands and the leaves shriveled and yellowed, though it were yet the start of summer. Times’ve been ill ever since. Folk’s teeth turn black as charcoal. Womenfolk fight like polecats, bawlin’ and brawlin’ o’er nothin’. The young ‘uns… born crippled, lame. Fear and cursing… Long have we pled for the Ladies’ help.”

“Ladies of the Wood don’t know what this power is?”

“They know all. Old Thecla claimed they be punishin’ us. Folk stopped respectin’ ‘em. Some even call ‘em witches. But must not be they, for they sent you.”

“I’ll look around the Whispering Hillock.”

“You be careful, Master Witcher. Don’t you treat this evil light.”

“Treating anything light can get you killed in my line of work.” Geralt turned and went back to Roach, heading to the hillock.

As Geralt approached the hillock, he saw how many villagers had been lured to the area.

“Begone!” A voice echoed around him, causing him to rein in Roach. “Come no closer. I know whence you come.”

Geralt dismounted and headed to the tree itself.

“The powers that protect me,” the voice seemed to be coming from the tree itself. “They sense whence you come.”

“A voice… from within the tree.” Geralt examined the tree, hearing a faint heartbeat. “It’s coming from below…” He headed to the base of the hill.

“Begone… Begone… Begone! The powers will not relent!” The heartbeat was louder and Geralt found a cave in the side of the hill and went inside. “Turn back… Turn back… Turn back… Turn back…” The voice sounded almost afraid.

“Who are you?”

“Begone!”

Geralt found his way through the cave, following the sound of the heartbeat until he found the source. Before him was a living and pulsating red mass with yellow spikes, caged within the roots of the tree.

“Why have you come?” the voice seemed to be coming from the mass. “Why spill this blood?”

Geralt walked towards it.

“Are you here to grant me death? Or is it my freedom you wish?”

“Who are you?” Geralt demanded.

“I abandoned my Circle where I’d kept the balance. The Crones killed me and cursed my ghost.”

“Never heard of a druid’s circle in Velen.”

“I wonder eternally through a maze of boughs, hopelessly sliding o’er rustling leaves.”

“Must know the Crones pretty well.”

“They are Velen’s curse. They hear all through severed ears. They weave hair and twist lives. They take their strength from a broth of human flesh.”

“Why did they kill you?”

“The Crones want this land. They’d rule the wood alone. I stood in their way. I had to die. This is my prison, a fortress besieged. Murderers I await and my forest protects me.”

“Murderers?”

“Murderous sisters. Killed my body, now my soul they hunt, for I defy them.”

“You claim to be imprisoned. How so?”

“I am bound here, in fetters of magic. I wander endlessly, a labyrinth of leaves. The children… I know all. I know what awaits them. Free me, please. I must help.”

“If something threatens the orphans, I’ll help them myself.”

“The children have been taken. Free me… Please. I can be a gale, a gallop unchained. I shall save them. Only I can.”

Geralt’s instincts were telling him not to trust this spirit, he’d seen the bodies around the hillock. His gut was telling him that many more would die if he let this spirit roam the land. “I don’t believe you, spirit,” he said. “Too many have called you evil and I have seen the bodies of the innocents you have drawn here. Your words alone are not enough to convince me you are an innocent victim of murder.”

This agitated the spirit and it pulled roots closer around the pulsating mass. “Dare harm me and against you will rise all the powers of nature!”

It summoned endrega, large bug-like creatures that spit poison, to attack. Geralt used Igni against them before turning his attention to the tree’s heart, cutting through the roots and shoving his sword through the mass. The spirit screeched as the heart slowly stopped pulsating. The air seemed to feel lighter when it died and Geralt turned and made his way out of the cave.

When Geralt emerged, he found the ealdorman and three villagers waiting for him.

“Solved your problem,” Geralt said. “Just in case, though, I’d avoid the Whispering Hillock for a while.”

“Cannot be… Were something lurkin’ in there?”

“An evil spirit had possessed the tree on the hill. It was responsible for the killings.”

“How’d you dispel this evil?”

“Some being had come to possess the tree’s heart. I destroyed the heart and its inhabitant.”

“So it were a ghost. Will it be back?”

“No.”

The ealdorman gave a sigh of relief.

“The Crones, or the Ladies of the Wood as you call them, said to remind you about payment. Take it you know what they meant.”

“Aye, I do. Give me the dagger.”

Geralt handed it over.

“Be back soon.”

He walked away and Geralt whistled for Roach. Geralt checked her over to make sure no harm had come to her while he had been dealing with the spirit. Several minutes went by before the ealdorman returned, his hand pressed over his left ear and blood trailing down his neck.

“There’s payment,” he said, handing Geralt his severed ear.

Geralt’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Take it to the Ladies, will you?”

“What the hell?”

“’Tis our pact. You’re a stranger, you don’t know life here. It’s honest pay for their protection.”

“So all those ears in the woods…”

“Put it out of your mind, Master. You soon be leavin’ and we must tarry on. Our young ‘uns and their young ‘uns after ‘em. No gods nor masters watch over Velen. The land is no man’s. He who wants to survive must seek his own protectors.”

Geralt shook his head as the ealdorman and the villagers left. He then turned to Roach to begin the long trek back to Crookback Bog.

Juray had heard some rumors about a white-haired Witcher in the area, but no one had been able to say for sure where he was headed. She had just finished killing a grave hag and was now looking for her next job on the notice board. Most were of people looking for work, but she caught sight of an appeal for any brave soul with a sword willing to brave the mists to kill whatever beast lurked there.

“Sounds like a job for a Witcher,” she said, retrieving Shadowmount and heading towards Crookback Bog to find the peat farmer who posted the Contract.


	14. Into the Mists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt hears about Ciri's adventures from the Crones. Juray runs into a fellow Witcher while on a Contract.

Returning to the village, Geralt noticed how quiet it was. He couldn’t hear the children playing and now wondered if he’d made the right choice. He placed the ear on the stone as Gran had said and waited. The wind seemed to pick up and whispers were heard on it. Geralt looked around him trying to find the source. His medallion started to hum and he turned back towards the stone to see three of the ugliest creatures he’d ever laid eyes on. He could honestly say this was not how he’d pictured the Crones.

“Sheath your weapon, young man,” the first said. She was the smallest, if not the ugliest. She wore a red pointed hat and a bandage over one eye, while the other looked like it was a nest for insects. Flies buzzed around her head. She was hunched over and wore a drab brown dress with thin grey hair.

“He’s even lovelier in real life,” said the second, the biggest of the three. She wore a basket on her face that caused her voice to be muffled. Her shirt barely covered her ample bosom and she, too, wore a drab brown dress.

“In real life, you’re… different… than you were in the tapestry,” Geralt commented, an understatement if he’d ever spoken one.

Gran went around the third one, who was wearing a red veil over her face and had a large sack over her front, Geralt noting that legs were sticking out of it.

She shoved Gran. “Well? Bring it here!”

Gran went over and picked up the ear, looking it over. She suddenly screamed, a symbol glowing brightly on her right palm.

“You were to bring it, not ogle it.”

Gran rushed over to her and handed her the ear. The Crone backhanded her and she went down. Geralt took a step forward as the Crone placed the ear on a necklace next to others.

“Never seek to cross us again,” she scolded.

Gran crossed her arms and looked down.

“We shall forgive you this transgression, for you have done well,” the second Crone said. “Your children are plump as piglets, sweet as caramel.”

Gran did not look happy and wouldn’t even look up.

“But now, we must talk to our white-haired friend,” the first said.

Gran walked away.

“The woman who cares for the kids…,” Geralt began.

“She’s a debt to pay,” the third answered. “She is here by choice.”

“She’s insane.”

“She knew what our pact entailed when she made it,” the first said.

“We helped her. She promised to serve.”

“Now she bears our mark, belongs to us. Come, it is another woman who interests you. Speak, White Haired One.”

“Our deal," Geralt said. "I did my part. Now do yours.”

“A word once given, we will never break,” the third said.

“The girl, mousy blond, that’s what they call it,” the first began.

“Thin as a rail, terrified, exhausted,” The second took up the tale. “She could barely stand, the poor thing.”

“We care for her the best we could,” the third added.

“Like she was our own daughter,” the first said.

“Wasted affection. She proved to be a very naughty girl.”

“Mischievous, stubborn, and selfish.”

That was the Ciri he knew.

“Don’t believe you,” Geralt said. “They say you always keep your word. So tell me everything, exactly as it happened.”

“We shall tell you, brave boy,” the second said.

~~~

_Ciri landed hard with a splash and a cry. She held her side from where she’d been wounded. They had been hard-pressed in Skellige, so her friend and companion had opened a portal, shouting at Ciri to go through. But she’d felt something bite into her side as she jumped. Now she found herself alone in a swamp. She saw lights and stumbled towards them, collapsing on the stoop of a house in the village swamp._

_She wasn’t sure how long she lay on the bed she found herself on, but was aware of voices in the next room._

_“Does she sleep?”_

_"Like a lamb.”_

_"Come, sisters, no point in dawdling. The table’s set, the cauldron bubbles.”_

_“We cannot! You know she is meant for Him!”_

_"Imlerith will get her, he will. But not whole.”_

_“Well said. We’ll just have a sample.”_

_“I’ll take her feet. Lovely and plump. Perfect for a broth.”_

_“Oh, hell no,” Ciri muttered, wincing as she sat up and grabbed her sword._

_“Ooooh, I can taste it already. Very well. Get on with it.”_

_Ciri was glad the window was open already and she wasn’t on a second story. She tossed her sword out of it, dropping to the ground next to it. She staggered to her feet, grabbing her sword and making a run for it. She realized that she had been nearly too late in fleeing when the air turned as cold as mid-winter. “Shit…”_

_She could hear hoofbeats approaching and looked for a place to hide, ending up climbing a tree. Below her, Imlerith stopped looking around for any sign of her. Ciri dared not breathe. After what seemed like an eternity, Imlerith turned his horse and galloped away. Ciri gave a sigh of relief before dropping out of the tree and running in the opposite direction._

~~~

Geralt glared at the Crones. “You tried to kill her. Tried to butcher her like an animal and eat her!”

“Her blood,” the second Crone whined. “The taste brought back memories of our youth.”

“Elder blood,” the first said. “Extraordinary girl. But you knew that. Such a shame she fled.”

Geralt wanted to kill them right then and there, but he was unprepared for any fight with them. And he had made it a rule not to face monsters unprepared. “She escaped you,” he growled. “But I’ll find her. We’ll come back here together and kill you.”

“You’ll return, you shall. Our fates are bound.”

“And one will die,” the third predicted. “But it shan’t be one of us.”

“Now you shall chase shadows,” the second said. “And wander midst fog.”

“Each time you see her,” the first said. “She will be a mirage.” They started to back away.

“And if you find her,” the third said. “If… the girl will die.” They laughed as they conjured up a mist.

“Be seeing you, handsome knight. See you very soon.” Their laughter continued to echo after they’d disappeared.

“Looks like I’m paying a visit to the Baron.”

~~~

Juray crouched next to a corpse. “Looks like I’m not the first one to attempt this.”

When she’d approached the fog, she could tell it wasn’t a normal fog. It had been hard to breathe and there was almost a metallic taste to it. She found an abandoned and dilapidated shack just on the edge of the fog and made camp there, finding the corpse just outside. She noted that he hadn’t even been able to draw his sword before the beast killed him.

"I’m really thinking a foglet. But I’ve never known of one to make a fog like this.” Juray frowned. “Could this be an ancient foglet? Nobody really knows how long these guys actually live.”

Night was falling and Juray knew better than to track in the dark, especially in a foggy swamp she wasn’t familiar with. So she settled down for the night, keeping one eye open.

~~~

The peat farmer did a double-take when he saw Geralt approach. “Another one? Since when do you Witchers travel in pairs?”

Geralt gave him a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”

“Girl with yellow eyes and white hair came here yesterday asking about the notice I posted. At least, she claimed to be a Witcher. Never known a lady Witcher.”

“Oh, she’s a Witcher. Damn good one, too.”

“Maybe between the two of you, you can kill this thing. Already settled on a price with her, so the two of you can discuss that.” He motioned towards the nearby fog. “She headed south. Into that mist. I’ll tell you like I told her, bad poxy air hangs o’er the area. Stings your eyes and claws at your throat, claws so hard ya might choke.”

Geralt nodded and headed towards the mist. As he passed through, he found it hard to breathe and there was something metallic about it. Not the kind of fog he’d experienced before. Past the fog, Geralt found an abandoned shack and he wondered how it was still standing. He crouched next to a corpse.

“Didn’t even have time to pull out his sword. Monster must have surprised him.” He went inside the shack and saw signs of someone having been there. “Must be Juray’s camp.” There were signs that a fire had been recently lit in the remains of the fireplace. “Must have brewed her potions here.” He knew he wasn’t going to be able to track Juray, so he looked for signs of the monster, realizing they were dealing with a foglet. A pretty old one. And since he smelled necrophage oil, Geralt knew she’d not gone into this fight unprepared. He followed the beast’s trail to a cave, hearing the screeching of a foglet and Juray loudly shouting curses at it.

“Where’d you go, you son of a bitch!” Juray shouted, pulling off a Dragon’s Breath bomb from her belt.

The foglet had indeed been an ancient one and used mist and illusions to its advantage, although the illusions immediately dissipated the moment they came near Juray, something even the other Witchers didn’t know she could do. This infuriated the foglet and he used the fog more to move around. She watched the fog, trying to determine where it would appear. Juray felt it behind her and spun around to counter its attack. The foglet ducked and raked its claw against her side, the momentum spinning her around and causing her to drop the bomb. She was glad the bottle didn’t break. It leapt at her and she hit it with Aard. It screeched and landed several feet away, tumbling head over heels. Behind it, Juray saw a figure jump down from the ledge. Juray grabbed the Dragon’s Breath and threw it. The bottle shattered at the foglet’s feet, a thick cloud enveloping it. It batted at the cloud, seconds before a glow behind it alighted the gas. The foglet screeched, running around in circles. Geralt knelt next to her as she sat up.

“I had it covered, but thanks.”

“How deep is that?”

“I’m fine.”

“And you said that after almost getting drained by a vampire.”

“At least I wasn’t gutted by a peasant with a pitchfork.”

“Way to hit below the belt, Juray. That how you greet Eskel?”

“If he makes comments like that, then yes.”

Geralt helped her to her feet as the foglet finally collapsed, its screeching cutting off.

“Good to see you, Geralt.”

“And you. Didn’t expect to see you in Velen.”

“Money’s good in Velen right now. Monsters are pretty riled from the war.”

“Speaking of monsters, let’s collect this toasty trophy and get paid.”

“You should do the honor since you’re the one that actually killed it.”

“Ancient foglet?”

“Very ancient. Pretty good with illusions. Would have thought there were three.”

“And I missed a good fight, then.” He went over to the foglet to claim the trophy.

“I need to stitch myself up. I’m going to assume you found the shack.”

“Yeah.” He held up the foglet head. “That is one ugly son of a bitch.”

“Are you going to admire it or turn it in?” she asked with a laugh. “I’ll meet you at the shack.”

Geralt collected the reward for killing the foglet and returned to the shack. Juray’s chest armor and shirt were laying nearby and she was sitting in her breastband suturing her own wound.

“Let me do that,” Geralt offered.

“How do you think I usually do it?”

“Always thought you did like the rest of us and went to a healer.”

“And listen to the lecture about how women shouldn’t be out there acting like menfolk? That I need to settle down with a man and push out some welps?”

“Somebody actually said that to you?” He sat next to her and took the needle out of her hand. The wound had gone deep enough to need stitches, but not deep enough to be a problem.

“Old woman, bout 30 years ago.”

“When you were with Gavin?”

“Yeah…”

Geralt immediately changed the subject, remembering how she didn’t like to talk about the fling she had with the Temerian nobleman. “Heard you were in White Orchard.”

“Heard you were, too. Also heard you’re on the hunt for someone. Which is why you’re in Velen.”

“I am.”

“Yennefer?”

“No, found her. She’s a bit pissed at me.”

“Wonder why.”

“I lost my memory, Juray.”

“I know. And I know Jaskier told you she was dead. We all thought the two of you were dead and gone until you show up outside Kaer Morhen with the memory of a newborn babe.”

“Ciri.”

“What?”

“I’m looking for Ciri.”

“ _The_ Ciri. As in Elder Blood, Witcher trained, _your_ daughter Ciri.”

“She’s back.”

“How did you find this out?”

“Yennefer and Emhyr.”

“Are we talking about His Royal Arseness Emperor Emhyr?”

Geralt smiled. “The same.”

“You talked face to face with him and he didn’t kill you?”

“Because he wants me to find Ciri and bring her to him.”

“Again? Little late to be a father now.”

“He wouldn’t tell me why, but I feel like he’s wanting to use her power for something.”

“You might not be wrong. But that should be her choice.”

“I know.”

“What have you learned?”

“She’d been seen in Velen. Went to contact one of Emhyr’s agents but the Wild Hunt got to him first.”

“Well, that’s just fucking great. That’s all Ciri needs is for the Wild Hunt to be on her ass.”

“They are on her ass.”

“Shit…”

“She’s been a few steps ahead of them so far. Found this agent's notes. Followed a lead about her getting into it with a witch. Ran into Kiera Metz who pointed me to the Crones of Crookback Bog. They tried to kill her so my next lead is the Bloody Baron.”

“What makes you think he knows anything?”

“Ciri was seen at his castle.”

“So I guess we’re heading to Crow’s Perch.”

“We?”

“I want to help you find her.”

Geralt finished stitching Juray up.

“Hey, she’s my niece. And I’d like to see her again. I haven’t seen her since she was a teenager.”

“Fine. We’ll go talk to this Baron together.”

Juray smiled as she dug through her pack for a replacement shirt.

“But only because you’d probably follow me anyway.”

Juray grinned. “You know me too well, big brother.”

“I also know you’re a brat, so get dressed and let’s go.”


	15. Crow's Perch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Juray accept a Contract from the local baron in exchange for information on Ciri.

Geralt and Juray took the road to Crow’s Perch, bantering back and forth. Soon the fort appeared on the horizon and they urged their horses into a canter. Until a man hailed them from the side of the road.

“Halt!” he cried, looking at Geralt. “Stand and duel! I challenge you!”

“Is he serious?” Juray asked.

“Seems like it.” The man regarded Geralt with his fists on his hips. “Boots a bit big, maybe? Careful not to trip.” He started to turn Roach away.

“Halt, I say!”

“Persistent bastard, isn’t he?” Juray remarked.

“I am Ronvid of the Small Marsh, bound by a sacred oath.”

“Oh, boy…”

“That’s rough,” Geralt said, annoyance coloring his sarcasm. “My sympathies.”

Juray snorted a laugh.

Ronvid ignored their comments. “To honor Maid Bilberry, fairest of all maids I know, by dueling a hundred knights to the death. Now draw your sword posthaste, for I have ninety-nine after you.”

“You’ve been challenged by an amateur and an idiot,” Juray commented. “Knock some sense into him and let’s go.”

Geralt shot her a look and she grinned before he dismounted. “At your service,” Geralt drew his sword. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ronvid attacked and Geralt easily blocked. He toyed with Ronvid a bit before landing several blows that the man barely blocked.

“I yield!” he cried.

“Had enough?”

“Yes, luck stood with you! B-but the next time we meet…”

“I just might kill you. Get lost. Before I change my mind and break your bones.”

“We shall meet again!” Ronvid stormed off and Geralt turned to mount Roach.

“What are you laughing at?”

“He sure showed you. Maid Bilberry would be so proud of him.”

They crossed the rickety bridge and into the small town around the castle.

“I’m pretty sure that bridge has seen better days,” Juray commented.

Geralt only shook his head. They were largely ignored by the people, but the guards seemed to be keeping a close eye on them. As they approached the gate to the castle, one of the guards stopped them.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

“Baron home?” Geralt asked.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Witchers,” Juray replied. “We need to talk to him.”

The guard snorted, looking Juray up and down. “Yeah. And I wanna plough the lovely Queen Cerro.”

“I’m pretty sure necrophilia is frowned on.”

“You look familiar, Master Witcher,” the second guard said. “Inn at the Crossroads. You bought us a round. As I recall, you were to go your separate way.”

“It led me here,” Geralt said. “Gotta talk to the Baron.”

“Aye? What about?” The first asked.

“Something important. His ears only.”

“Fine,” the second responded. “Lodrin, open the gate. If they make any trouble, well… we outnumber ‘em.”

“Open the gate!” He then called upon the sergeant. “Ardal! Couple Witchers to see the Baron.” He turned to Geralt and Juray as they passed him. “Don’t want no disturbances, that clear?”

“Crystal,” Juray said.

“How do you manage to stay out of trouble with your mouth?”

Ardal was waiting for them as they stepped past the gate. He looked them both over before turning and motioning for them to follow him. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, Mistress Witcher,” he commented.

“The Path led me here once more.”

Geralt wanted to ask how they knew each other, but decided to question Ardal instead. “Guard called you a sergeant,” he said. “You a Temerian soldier?”

“Not your concern, mate,” he snapped.

“Deserter?”

“And you were concerned about my mouth,” Juray commented.

“Temerian army don’t exist no more.”

“So what are you all doing here?”

“Had a choice after the Black Ones thrashed us, let it lie and try to lead normal lives or continue to resist, join the guerillas and fight for our beloved Temeria until death do us part. We chose the former.”

“And the Baron your commander?”

“Yeah… commander.” Ardal led them to the garden and motioned for them to go ahead.

The Baron, a portly man with a salt and pepper beard wearing red was talking to another man in Nilfgaardian armor.

“In Vizima,” he was saying. “Now those were balls! Attended a few, me and my Annie. Oh, how we danced!” He stood and grabbed a servant that was sweeping nearby and she gave a startled yelp. “How we twirled.” He laughed as he twirled the servant around. “One, two, three! One, two, three!” He laughed again as he let her go and Juray saw the smile on her face.

“Enough!” the Nilfgaardian said. “I don’t care how you do it, but the deliveries must be weekly.”

“Won’t you stay for tea?”

The Nilfgaardian looked past the Baron. “No, besides you have other guests.” He motioned towards the Witchers before taking his leave.

The Baron turned towards them as they approached. “Look at that!” he said. “Didn’t even stay for tea! Despite all that blabberin’ about how cultured the nation is.”

“How rude,” Juray smarted off, causing the Baron to give a hearty laugh.

“I like you already.”

“Rumors rarely find confirmation in reality,” Geralt said. “Especially ones about foreigners.”

The Baron laughed again. “Right you are.”

“I’m —”

“I know who you are,” the Baron interrupted Geralt. “Believe I also know why you’ve come.”

Juray and Geralt looked at each other.

“We’ll talk inside.”

The Baron led them to his office. It was a large room with a small table, a fireplace, a desk, and ample shelves.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said with a sweeping gesture.

Juray and Geralt moved deeper into the room and towards the table.

“Now where’d I put that bloody vodka?” He searched around before he found it. “Ah! There it is!” He picked up the bottle and held it towards them. “A snifter?”

“Why not?” Geralt said.

“And you, lass?”

“If you’re offering, sure.”

“A pair after me own heart! With Foltest dead and Natalis’ whereabouts unknown,” the Baron poured the drinks. “Bloody hell, who’s a loyal Temerian to drink to these days?”

“Himself and his company?” Geralt offered.

“Good enough.”

The three picked up the glasses and drank.

“To the matter at hand. I’m Phillip Strenger. Blobtits round here call me the Bloody Baron.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Blobtits call me Butcher of Blaviken.”

Juray snorted a laugh. He hated that name and to introduce himself with it struck her as funny.

“I said already, I know who you are.” He looked over at Juray. “Although you’re another story.”

“Juray of Riverdell. Guess you can say the blobtits call me the White Demon.”

“Now the White Demon, I’ve heard of.” He turned his attention back to Geralt. “Truth be told, because I know who you are is the only reason we’re talking. How do you two like it here in Velen?”

“Lovely place,” Geralt said. “Swamps, bogs, marshes everywhere…”

“Does wonders to the complexion,” Juray added.

“Exactly.” A sad look passed over his face. “Someone loses their way ‘round here, he becomes damn hard to find.”

Juray had a feeling he was about to ask them to do just that.

“What are you getting at?” Geralt asked.

“He wants us to find someone,” Juray answered.

“Many have lost loved ones here. Some their wives,” he looked at Geralt. “Some their daughters.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’ve come looking for Ciri.”

“How do you know we’re here looking for her?” Juray asked.

“She talked about her father all the time, although I didn’t expect her mother to come along as well.”

“Whoa,” Juray held a hand up. “Not her mother. More like her aunt.”

Geralt leaned over the table. “So she was here.”

“She showed up some time ago. Exhausted, wounded, and stinkin’ like a soaked hound after a hard hunt. Later I learned she came from the swamp.”

~~~

_Ciri tumbled down the ledge, having been looking behind her to make sure she wasn’t being followed and didn’t see it until it was too late. She landed face-first in some water, soaking her completely. She grumbled as she tried to shake the water off her. She looked up, holding her side, glad to see nothing was looking down at her, before focusing her efforts on finding a way out of the swamp._

_"That was close,” she said to herself, having taken on the Witcher habit of thinking out loud. “Now to get out of here.” Ciri decided to continue the way she’d been heading, coming upon several wolves trying to jump up a tree to reach a girl in the branches. She jumped in and surprised the wolves, quickly killing them. After making sure they were dead, she looked up at the girl in the tree._

_“You can come down.”_

_The girl climbed down and Ciri saw she had to be no more than eight and wearing boy’s clothes and a brown braid over her shoulder._

_“Are you lost?”_

_“A little, I guess,” the girl said. “Are you?”_

_“Yes.” Ciri smiled. “Only also just a little.”_

_“Does that mean you know which way to go?”_

_“Not quite. Not yet. But I’m sure we’ll find the way if we set off together.” Ciri couldn’t leave her there and if there was something her adopted father told her that stuck was to never leave behind a soul in need._

_“What happened to you?”_

_Ciri was dirty, wet, and the blood was noticeable on her white shirt. “This?” she motioned to the wound on her side before kneeling down in front of the girl. “It’s nothing. How did you wind up here?”_

_“My father brought me. Told me to follow the Trail of Treats and eat my fill. He said he would wait. So I started down the trail, but then I saw a butterfly and I ran to catch it and I lost my way.”_

_“Why did he have you follow the Trail of Treats? Do you know?”_

_“Because…,” she looked down. “We had naught to break our fast with.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“I was naughty. Broke a jug and spilled all our milk."_

_"Your parents must have been angry.”_

_“Mother said I should be spanked, but Father said ‘twoud do no good. Too many mouths to feed anyway. Sending me down the Trail of Treats, that would solve things.”_

_Ciri couldn’t believe that her parents would abandon her to the swamp over spilled milk. “When did you two leave home?”_

_“This mornin’.”_

_“And did the sun warm your face or your back?”_

_“It warmed my back.”_

_“So we must go east.” Ciri stood. “Come. I’ll walk you home. And explain to your parents that they must not lose their children in the woods.”_

_“We can’t go home. ‘Cause the Wolf King and his pack.”_

_“No kings among wolves.”_

_“These have one.”_

_“You’ve seen him?”_

_“From behind a tree. He was huge with giant eyes and great fangs and he was terribly, disgustably horrific!”_

_Ciri smiled before motioning to Swallow. “See what I’ve got on my back?”_

_The girl nodded._

_“Wolves fear it. Kings do too. Come. I’ll help you.” Ciri and the girl went to the nearby ledge and Ciri boosted her up, following right behind her. “What’s your name?”_

_“Gretka.”_

_“I’m Ciri.”_

_After dispatching more wolves, Gretka looked up at Ciri with a look of awe on her face_

_“You’re so brave!” she said. “My father could never do that.”_

_Ciri smiled, thinking fondly of Geralt. “Mine could do a lot more.”_

_They continued on until they came upon a gruesome scene._

_“Ciri, look!” Gretka pointed._

_“Wait here. Don’t come any closer.” Ciri investigated the corpse of what used to be a man to determine what killed him, Gretka coming over anyway._

_“What happened to him?”_

_“He… had a fall.”_

_“I bet the Wolf King got him.”_

_“When did children get so smart?” Ciri asked with a smile._

_“What’ll we do when the Wolf King finds us?”_

_“Good question. I’ve got no silver, but I can make a blade oil.”_

_“Oil? You mean like what we make from rapeseed?”_

_“No, a far more special oil. The Wolf King will feel terrible, terrible pain.”_

_“You’re smart! How do you know all these things? Did your father teach you?”_

_“Not my father. My uncle. Uncle Vesemir.” She could hear his voice in her mind now, droning on about how useful oils are in combat. Ciri gathered the ingredients she needed and then found a spot to build a fire so she could brew the oil. Gretka watched the entire process._

_“There,” Ciri said after she finished greasing her blade with the oil. “We’ll see how effective Uncle Vesemir’s formulae are.” Ciri doused the fire and Gretka led her to a cave._

_“It’s a bit dark…,” the little girl said._

_“Afraid?”_

_“Are you?”_

_“No.”_

_“Then I’m not either.”_

_Ciri couldn’t help but smile._

_Upon entering the cave, they immediately heard growling. They came to a ledge and saw a man backing away from a large werewolf._

_“The Wolf King!” Gretka whispered. “Now do you believe me?”_

_“I do. Hide!”_

_Gretka did as she was told and Ciri jumped down, drawing her sword. The man fell and the werewolf raised his paw to strike. Ciri gave a whistle, drawing the werewolf’s attention. It decided that Ciri was the bigger threat and charged._

_“Watch out!” the man cried._

_Ciri dodged the werewolf’s strike, but not fast enough to entirely avoid a claw and bringing her blade around to slice into its back. The wound sizzled and the werewolf gave a howl of pain. Ciri attacked again before it could recover, this time taking its head in one fell sweep._

_The man approached Ciri after she cleaned and sheathed her sword. “You really gave ‘im a clobberin’. Never seen anything like it.”_

_Ciri only looked over her shoulder. “Gretka! You can come out now!” she called._

_Gretka emerged from her hiding spot and ran over to Ciri. “You did it!” she cried. “You killed the Wolf King!”_

_Ciri smiled before turning her attention back to the man. “You’re lucky we came this way. Found someone less fortunate in the forest.”_

_“Yaren. Must be. We was returning from Midcopse when the brute attacked. I managed to escape, but Yaren, he…”_

_Ciri raised her hands. “The little one. No details.”_

_He nodded, glancing down at Gretka, who was no entertaining herself by playing with the cat head medallion hanging from Ciri’s belt._

_“You have bandages at home? Some spirit? He laid a claw or two on me, unfortunately.”_

_“I-I’ve naught, miss, but my lord, he’s a powerful man. He’s sure to help you. Might even reward you for cuttin’ the werewolf down.”_

_“Very well. Lead me to your lord.”_

_The lord introduced himself as Phillip Strenger and escorted them to his personal rooms._

_“You two look like you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”_

_“Might be true of Gretka,” Ciri said. “Her family was struggling to feed their children and she was sent down a trail of treats.”_

_“Say no more.” He motioned to the table. “Sit. Make yourselves at home.” He turned to the nearby servant. “Go to the kitchens and tell them to prepare a meal for a family.”_

_“Yes, milord.”_

_“Thank you,” Ciri said. “I really appreciate this.”_

_“It’s nothing. I’ll also send for my doctor to have those wounds looked at.”_

_The servants brought the food and Ciri and Gretka dug in. Ciri was starving and Getha was eating with both hands, shoveling in food. Phillip conversed with the man that brought them before he joined them._

_“So, stew any good?” he asked._

_“Mhm, very,” Ciri answered. “I’d not eaten in—”_

_“I see that.” He smiled. “I’m pleased you like it. Had them prepare a bath for you once you’ve eaten. And you could do with some sleep. Gretka in the nook behind the hearth, you in the guest room opposite the kitchen.”_

_“Thank you. I —”_

_“Shh. Eat now. We’ll speak once you’re rested.”_

~~~

“So I ordered my men to watch her and left her to her rest.”

“And?” Geralt prompted.

“Ah, a topic for another time.”

“Of course,” Juray muttered.

“The little girl that showed up with Ciri? What happened to her?”

“Gretka? She’s safe and sound. Helps out in the kitchen. Ciri told me of the girl’s parents, what they decided. So I decided not to send the lass home. She’s fed here. A roof over a warm corner to call her own. She wants for nothing.”

“What happened to Ciri?”

“I’ve told you already. A topic for another time.”

“What do you want in exchange?” Juray asked.

“You’re a sharp one, lass.”

“Have to be in our line of work.”

“I regret your loss, commiserate. But it so happens that my wife and daughter are missing as well. I propose an exchange, find my loved ones and I’ll tell you about the girl you seek. All I know.”

“Thing is, can I trust you?” Geralt asked. “What guarantee do I have?”

Phillip laughed. “None whatsoever. Only my word.”

“Fine, we’ll help you. We’ll find your family, but then you’ll give me every bit of information you have.”

“You have my word.” He then gave a whistle. “Guard!” The guard appeared. “These two are under my protection. No one’s to bother them. In any way.”

Juray and Geralt just looked at him.

“Don’t stare, I’ve not grown horns. Treat it as a token of my good faith.”

“When did you see them last?” Geralt asked, treating this as a Contract.

“They vanished after the new moon, as if whisked away by shadows.”

“What do you mean, ‘vanished’?”

“Precisely that. I awoke one morn to find them gone.”

“What do they look like?” Juray asked. “Will help us know who we’re looking for.”

“Tamara, my daughter, turned nineteen in the spring. Slender lass, about Juray’s height. Beautiful eyes, green like her mother’s. My wife, Anna, has two score winters behind her, though she’d never admit it. Dark hair, thick as tar, keeps it tied up in a bun.”

“Is there any way we can look at their rooms?”

“What for?”

“Clues,” Geralt said. “Anything to latch onto.”

“I’ll not let strangers paw through their belongings!”

“Want us to find them or not?”

Phillip sighed. “I do.”

“Then let us work.”

“Fine, but I shall go with you. The doors are locked.” Phillip led them from the office and headed towards the stairs. “When she was a babe, my daughter loved animals. Saw a deer trophy on the wall once. Know what she asked?”

“What?” Juray asked.

“‘Papa, is that deer’s rump on the other side of the wall?’”

Juray smiled as Phillip laughed.

“You see it there? What a trophy!” His laughter died as he unlocked a door, then went and unlocked another. “I pity any bastard who’s hurt her. I’ll flay him alive.” He opened the door to the second room. “Our bedchamber.” He pointed over to the first one. “Tamara’s room is over there.”

“I’ll look over Tamara’s room,” Juray said. “You search their room.”

Geralt nodded and the two separated to look for clues.


	16. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Juray learn the truth about Anna and Tamara's disappearance. A pellar's words give Juray doubts. The Witchers plan a ritual.  
> TW: Mentions of domestic abuse and miscarriage

While all Juray found was an ugly red-haired doll, Geralt had found signs of a struggle in the couple’s room, along with a protective amulet. Upon questioning Phillip about what they found, they discovered the doll was supposed to be Triss Merigold, as the Baron had made it for Tamara when she was four. Phillip knew nothing about a fight as he was drunk that night, and the amulet belonged to Anna, but he had no idea how she came about it.

“Any witches or cunning women in the area?” Geralt asked.

“A pellar. Old coot lives near Blackbough. And there’s a cunning woman in Midcopse, but I know little about her. She’s only recently arrived. If Anna were to see someone, she’d chose the pellar, not the woman. Anna was wary of newcomers, strangers.”

“Then we oughta have a chat with this pellar.”

“Fair warning, he’s a hard man to talk to. Rumor has it he killed his own father with an axe as a lad, then went batty. Now they say he sees ghosts and ploughs his goat.”

“Well, that was a lovely image,” Juray muttered.

“Not really interested in his hobbies,” Geralt said. “Just want to ask about the amulet.”

“Come on. Recently answered a notice in Blackbough, I know the way.”

They stopped to speak with Gretka, who knew who Geralt was, and told them how much she missed Ciri before they left Crow’s Perch and headed to Blackbough. Nothing seemed to have changed since Juray’s last visit dealing with the extremely odd love triangle here. They were directed to the pellar’s hut and found several of the Baron’s men in front of it, trying to break down the door.

“If you ask nicely, he might open the door,” Juray said as they approached.

“What do you freaks want?” one of the men asked.

“Here to see the pellar.”

“Too late. We got dibs on a chat with him. A long one.”

“Think you need to leave. Now.” Geralt cast Axii.

“Do we?” another asked.

“You do,” Juray added her own Axii knowing it would be stronger than Geralt’s because of her curse.

“Well…,” the first one said. “Let’s go then.” The men left and Geralt nodded at Juray, knowing what she did.

“Let’s go have a friendly visit with the pellar,” she said, approaching the door and knocking. “Anyone home?”

“It’s safe now,” Geralt called.

“Devils!” a man called from inside. “Who do they bring? What seek ye?”

“Need your help.”

“Ooh, a man,” he paused. “Nay, a wolf, grey though not old. ‘Tis he the pellar awaits.”

“Baron’s right,” Juray said. “He is batty.”

The door opened, revealing an old man with very little hair, wearing robes and a necklace of chicken feet. “And the wolf does not travel alone, but with a demon, a child of the winter moon.”

Juray and Geralt looked at each other.

“Uh…”

“Come on,” Geralt said before stepping inside. “You were expecting me?”

“Aye, as the bones declared I should. They shall come whose stench is rape and death, but the wolf shall disperse them. The White Wolf. And thus he comes. Omens never lie.”

Geralt held out the amulet. “Recognize this?”

The pellar turned towards them.

“Made of spruce wood, smells of juniper. Designed to protect someone.”

The pellar gave one glance and nodded. “Freshly cut spruce sprinkled with goat’s blood, then tempered with an incense of earthsmoke and juniper. For Anna. To protect her.”

“Take it you made it,” Juray said.

“Aye, sure ‘twas the pellar. After the ways of his forefather, over still water, in the light of a full moon. Proper as amulets go. It protected well. Should have never taken it off.”

“What was it designed to protect her from?” Geralt asked.

“Oh the dear, besieged she was. Evil all around, wanting to possess her. Old magic born of oblivion, from dark sources emerged.”

“Well that’s specific,” Juray commented.

“‘Tis not for mouth speech, nor for the touch. A small protective charm, not a thing more a pellar could do.”

“Anna and her daughter are missing,” Geralt said. “Know where they are?”

“Nay, no, nay,” The pellar turned away. “The pellar don’t know. But the spirits could know. The pellar could auger, the spirits ask.”

“Spirits, great, fine with me. As long as I know where to look, how to find them.”

“Lost, lost, must be found. Princess!” He spun around. “None better than Princess for finding things!” He headed outside.

“Princess?” Juray asked, convinced without a doubt that the man was completely bonkers.

“Which princess?” Geralt and Juray followed the pellar outside.

“Princess!” he lamented, facing an empty pen, “My goat! She’s fled.”

“Those men must have scared her off.” Geralt motioned back to the hut. “Can we get back to the augering?”

“Without the goat?” the pellar sounded heartbroken. “Impossible. No goat? Won’t work.”

“Guess I’m looking for a goat,” Geralt sighed.

The pellar turned to Geralt. “The bell! The little bell’s ringing. She loves it!” He handed the Witcher a little bell. “Ring, ring, and she will come. But beware of wild strawberries.”

“Dangerous as monsters go,” Juray laughed.

“Yeah, always keep an eye out for them myself.” Geralt looked over at Juray. “I think I can track this goat on my own. Just keep him out of trouble.”

“Yes, father.”

While Geralt was off goat hunting, Juray stayed with the batshit crazy pellar helping him gather some of the ingredients they would need.

“White Demon. Snow Demon. Winter Demon.”

“What are you going on about now?”

“The bones told me of you, Child of the Winter Moon, the demon that’s not.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“The white-haired child born on a winter’s full moon, magic running through her veins.”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but my parents were superstitious idiots that definitely were not mages. Trust me, nobody in that village had a drop of magic in them.”

“The spirits do not lie. How do you think you were able to pass your trials? You think that you are cursed, do you not?”

Juray looked at him.

“‘Tis not a curse, but a blessing, a gift. The magic in you would have come out whether you became a Witcher or not. The magic you do use is stronger yes?”

“A bit.”

“And you know when monsters prowl, even without your wolf’s head?”

“How did you know about this?”

“The spirits know much and to the pellar they speak.”

At that moment Geralt returned with Princess in tow. “Princess! Flee not from the pellar! There are wolves about.” He knelt in front of her. “Goat of mine! Dearest, sweetest goat!”

“You okay?” Geralt asked, noticing the look on Juray’s face.

“I’m fine,” she answered. “We should do this ritual.”

“Anna and Tamara might be in danger.”

The pellar stood. “The White Wolf helped the pellar. The pellar will help the White Wolf. Blood! We need blood. A living being.” The pellar turned and headed into the hut.

“Your turn to stay with the crazy old man,” Juray said, turning on her heel and quickly walking into the surrounding forest.

“What the hell did he say to you?”

Juray returned with a rat as the pellar finished milking Princess. She held it up by its tail. The pellar nodded, the bowl of milk in his hand. He scattered herbs in an arc on the floor, pouring the milk over them. He threw the bowl aside, the pottery shattering into pieces. He then held his hand out and Juray handed over the rat. The pellar did an odd little ritualistic dance before slicing open the rat and adding its blood to the herbs and goat’s milk. He fell to his knees, throwing the rat to the side, and a mist of some sort suddenly came off him.

“They are not here,” his voice took on a demonic tone and the two Witchers looked at each other. “They are gone.” He threw his head back. “Blood! I see blood!”

“Whose?” Geralt asked.

“No Anna… No Tamara… Just a child.” The pellar pitched forward to his hands quieting. After a moment he stood. “A child that lives not, yet did not die.” His voice was back to normal.

“Whose child?” Juray asked.

“Anna’s.”

“Anna was pregnant?” Geralt asked, surprise clear in his voice.

“She was. And she miscarried.”

“The Baron didn’t mention that.”

“Afraid, perhaps. Or ashamed. Or forgetful. Or he did not wish to remember.”

“Anna tell you all this? Did she come here after it happened?”

“Nay, not Anna. ‘Twas the omens told me.”

“Great. So we can be sure it’s true.”

“The omens need not your faith to be true.” He looked over at Juray as he said it and she crossed her arms before he turned his attention back to Geralt. “It is you who needs the omens to lead you to the truth.”

“The Baron have anything to do with his wife’s miscarriage?”

“Foul-tempered he is. And he’s a fondness for hooch.”

“No doubt makes his temper fouler,” Juray commented. “Did he abuse his family?”

“The pellar’s old, near-blind.” He looked over at his goat as she grazed happily from a bucket of feed. “But Princess came and licked her hand.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“She’s a wise beast, only comes to those who suffer.”

“What happened to the child?” Geralt asked.

“In a grave thrown, without rite or ceremony, it awoke. Now it wanders, it seeks vengeance.”

“A botchling,” Juray said.

“Aye, wise moon child. Catch the botchling, the botchling will help, lead the wolf and the demon to the loved ones.”

“That’ll only work if we can lift the curse, turn it into a lubberkin.”

“I’ve never lifted a botchling’s curse.” Geralt looked at Juray.

“Have you?”

“Vesemir said that James had been the only Wolf to successfully do it.” She looked back at her friend. “But I’m positive we can do it.”

“If you cannot, kill it and bring me its blood. Blood will always find kindred blood.”

“We also need to have a long discussion with the Baron on withholding information.”

“Perform the Aymm Rhoin,” the pellar added.

“The Ritual of Naming?” Geralt asked. “That’s an elven custom.”

“Whatever the origin,” Juray stated. “We need to give the child a name in order to turn it into a lubberkin.”

“Win a spirit’s favor, and the spirit shall aid you,” the pellar continued. “Ask and it will answer. Seek, and it will show you the way.”

“Whatever we do, need to find it first,” Geralt said.

“Seek it at midnight, at the grave that lies empty.”

“Come on, Geralt. We don’t have much time. Baron has to know where the grave is.”

“Wise demon, wise wolf.”

Geralt looked over at Juray as they headed back to Crow’s Peak. “What was said?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“I know he said something to you. Something that’s made you think.”

“Nothing I want to discuss with you.”

“That’s cold.”

“It’s actually something I would rather discuss with Triss or Yennefer.”

“Does this have something to do with why he kept calling you moon child?”

“Maybe.”

“And you can’t talk to me about it.”

“Geralt!” Juray snapped. “I don’t pry into your business, do I?”

Geralt sighed. “Your family’s still a sore subject, isn’t it?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t get lucky enough to have that memory wiped away during the Grasses. So drop it.”

Geralt held a hand up. “Fine.”

They rode in silence, Geralt stealthily watching her until she broke their silence.

“Is that smoke?”

Geralt looked at her fully and she motioned ahead of them. He looked and saw smoke over the trees. They turned a bend and saw Crow’s Peak, one of the buildings engulfed in flames.

“Lightning strike?” Geralt suggested as they urged their horses into a gallop.

Once they crossed the bridge, they saw villagers running about almost in a panic and dodging the Witchers’ horses. Once they reached the gates, they quickly dismounted and saw the stables were what was on fire, but no one moved to extinguish the inferno. Two men were standing nearby, one looking like he was about to panic.

“Are you people blind?” Geralt asked. “Is no one willing to put it out?”

“Ain’t that simple,” the older man said. “People are afeared. Baron flies into a rage, he takes no prisoners.”

“The Baron did this?” Juray asked.

“My brother’s in the stable,” the other man, a soldier, cried. “Please! We have to save him! He’ll burn alive! Him and the horses!”

Juray looked towards the burning stables before taking off at a run towards it.

“We’ll find your brother,” Geralt said before following her. She was already in the building by the time he reached it, following her inside. “Juray!”

“Down here!” She and the stable hand were breaking open the paddocks and leading the horses out. “Break open the door!”

Geralt used Aard to blast open the doors and Juray and the stable hand herded them out.

“Thank you!” he said.

“Go find your brother.”

He ran out the door. Juray made sure there was no one else left behind before she followed him. Just in time to see Phillip throw a punch at Geralt. Geralt instantly reacted, dodging the punch and landing a few of his own. Phillip went down and Geralt dragged him over to the nearby trough and shoving his head under the water.

“Geralt!”

After a couple of dunks, he dropped him next to the trough, sputtering and coughing. “We need to talk,” Geralt growled. He picked up the Baron and led him back to the fort.

“And will somebody put out that fucking fire?” Juray snapped as she followed after them, the stench of hooch assaulting her nose in the process.

After Geralt dragged him back to his office, Phillip tried to go after the hooch again but found that Juray packed as hard of a punch as Geralt. He was now sporting a black eye to go along with the fat lip Geralt gave him. He finally decided to stand by the fireplace before Geralt roughly told him to sit.

“You beat them,” Geralt confronted Phillip with what they learned from the pellar.

“I never laid a finger on Tamara, not once,” Phillip insisted as he did as the Witcher said.

“And Anna?” Juray asked, leaned against the table while Geralt had taken the other chair in front of the fireplace.

“That’s another story.”

“Mhm."

“She always knew how to spark my ire.”

“Oh, is this another ‘If she didn’t make me mad, I wouldn’t beat the ever-loving shit out of her’ type thing?”

“Juray.” Geralt wasn’t in the mood for Juray’s mouth. “You expect us to believe you were a loving father to Tamara after that display in the courtyard?”

“You two are free to believe whatever you wish.” He looked over at Geralt. “But Tamara was the apple of my eye. She had the run of the place, ask anyone. She’d ride the horses, hunt with the men, at times join them on their rounds. And they’d send for her when I flew into a rage, for only she could calm me.”

“Make it sound like she led a charmed life. If that’s the case, why’d she run?”

“I’d hardly need you if I knew.”

“I’d like to get back to the ‘Anna knew how to make me mad’ part,” Juray said. “Not the submissive wife you wanted?”

Phillip glared at Juray. “Twenty years we’ve known each other. She’s seen me drunk and sober. She was there to greet me when I returned the victor. She was there to patch me up in defeat. Like no other, she knew where to press, where to pinch, so it would hurt.”

“Sounds like you and Lambert,” Geralt quipped.

Juray rolled her eyes. “Unlike you, I’ve wintered with him for seventy years. Plenty of time to know how to get on each other’s bad side. On purpose.”

Phillip looked at her wide-eyed, no doubt her youthful appearance having thrown him off.

Juray brought the topic back to the baron and his wife. “So you beat your wife for criticizing you?”

“You two haven’t a clue, have you?” Phillip looked between the two. “Perhaps I will tell you about it one day. One day. Not today.”

“You knew they had run from the start,” Geralt said.

“Yes, I knew.”

“Then you wasted our time!” Juray growled. “Had us running after leads that you knew would lead us to finding out what really happened!”

Phillip stood, knocking the chair back and spinning towards Juray. Geralt jumped up as well, Juray holding her hand up to stop him from advancing towards the Baron.

“What if I had told you, hmm? What if I’d said I had problems, couldn’t control my wife and daughter? What kind of flaccid prick would you take me for?”

“Well, you are definitely a prick.”

Phillip glared at her, balling his fists.

“But I don’t think that because you couldn’t control them. You’re a prick because _you_ drove them away!”

“What?”

“Don’t play the idiot,” Geralt said. “She’s right. They left because you gave them no choice.”

Phillip seemed to deflate then. “Anna and I…” He hung his head. “It wasn’t as it seemed, seems.”

“Then tell us the truth,” Juray said. “What really happened?”

The men sat down again.

“I’d been soakin’ myself three days straight. Anna came to me, said they were leaving. I begged them to stay. She refused to hear it. I tried to stop her. She wriggled like an eel, we struggled, she fell. Last blasted thing I remember. Woke up in the morn, breeches heavy with me own piss, a large bump on my head. Sadly, they were gone. Know what that’s like, Witchers?” He looked between the two. “No, how the fuck could you? I was left with nothing! Nothing! Only the bottle…”

“Tamara present for all this?” Geralt asked. “She see you quarrel?”

“Through the doorway, perhaps? She didn’t enter the room. Shame, too. Things might’ve turned out differently. Sight of her always calmed me.”

“The signs of the fight in the room I found, was that you?”

“Aye. She tried to whack me on the noggin with a candlestick, but kept missin’. Hit the wall and the pillar instead. Staggered back onto the table, spilled the wine, slipped and fell. Anna used that moment to flee. She rushed down the stairs, still clutching that damned candlestick. I caught her on the landing. We fell. I thought I had her, then she whacked me in the head with the candlestick. I blacked out. Don’t know what happened next. When I awoke, I was alone.”

“What happened then?” Juray prompted.

“It only got worst. It was sundown when I awoke. Didn’t know how many days had passed. Thought it was all a ploughin’ nightmare. Went to the bedchamber, but Anna wasn’t there. Instead… there was blood everywhere.”

“From where she miscarried.”

“Aye. My breath short, my throat locked, I neared the bed and there it was. Tiny thing, defenseless… on bloodied sheets…” Phillip’s voice broke. “Dead. And it was my doing.” He put his head in his hands and Juray could feel regret coming off him.

“Your doing or not, but that amulet she wore could be important. Or maybe the fact she lost it.”

Phillip didn’t move.

“What did you do with the child?” Juray asked.

“What was I supposed to do, leave it there? I took it out and buried it.”

“Just buried it?” “Damn you! I gave no thought to a funeral! It was a horror, I wanted it to end! That child had been my dream. I said to Anna ‘A little one, our little one, to make things right.’ But she died before she could be born! Do either of you understand? My child was dead!”

“I sympathize,” Geralt said, while Juray remained silent. “I do.”

“Thank you. And know that I hope you find your Ciri.”

“The deal we made means I have to find Tamara and Anna first. Just so happens your unborn daughter can help with that.”

“How?”

“Not giving her a funeral cursed her and turned her into a botchling,” Juray said.

“Into fucking what?”

“It draws its strength from killing pregnant women. Once it’s strong enough, it kills those who scorned it. Meaning she’ll come after you.”

“But how does it know?”

“Blood ties are a strong bond. It’s a bond we can use to find Anna and Tamara.”

“How?”

“One of two ways. My personal preference is burying under the threshold and performing a ritual to turn it into a lubberkin. Which is a guardian spirit that would lead us to your family.”

“And the other?”

“We kill it and use its blood to find them,” Geralt said flatly.

Phillip turned to him. “Do not kill my child! She’s suffered enough!” He turned to Juray. “Do the ritual, please. So she may finally rest in peace.”

“Where did you bury her?”

“I’ll show you. And I’ll dig the grave under the threshold myself.”

“If we can’t turn the botchling into a lubberkin, they can bury us in it,” Geralt said.

Juray rolled her eyes. “We’ll need to do this at midnight,” she said. “We’ll collect you then. Use the time to sober up. We can’t do this with you shitfaced.”

“I’d prefer if you waited here with me.”

“Get word out to the common folk,” Geralt said. “Oughta stay in their homes tonight and draw a line of salt outside their doors.”

Phillip nodded and went to give the orders to his men to spread the word.

Geralt turned to Juray. “Planning on doing this yourself?”

“I’d rather not kill it if we don’t have to.” She turned to Geralt. “Don’t you think he has enough guilt from causing his daughter’s death? Or do you want to send him over the edge by killing her in front of him?”

“For someone who’s never had a surprise child, you sure act like a parent.”

“Just because I never actually brought a child to Kaer Morhen, doesn’t mean I never cared for one.” Juray walked away before Geralt could respond.


	17. Botchlings and Lubberkins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juray lifts the botchling's curse. The Witchers follow Anna and Tamara's trail.

Midnight approached and Phillip led the two Witchers to where he buried his miscarried daughter.

“Did you give her a name?” Juray asked.

“No, why would we?” Phillip asked.

“Mistake,” Geralt said. He’d spent the entire time they were waiting trying to figure out what Juray had meant about caring for a child. “Names are powerful seals.”

They traveled a little longer in silence.

“Here’s the spot.”

It was a deserted area past the gates. The ruins suggested that no one had disturbed the area in years until Phillip buried his child here.

“Chose a lovely spot,” Geralt smarted off.

“Damn it, will you relent?” Phillip asked. “I ploughin’ know I done wrong.”

“At least you admit to it,” Juray said. “She’s already prowling.” The grave was empty.

“What?”

Juray turned her head as raindrops touched her cheek. “She’s nearby.” She stepped past the men, her golden cat-like eyes on a gap in the nearby fence.

“Where is it?” Geralt asked.

“Coming this way.”

Through the gap in the fence came a creature that looked like a deformed newborn infant, crawling towards them. But unlike a newborn, its mouth was full of two rows of razor-sharp teeth and a long tongue whipped about, tasting the air. Phillip backed away and Juray turned her head when she heard Geralt draw his silver sword.

“Phillip, pick her up. Quick.”

“And if it goes garrity!? It’ll bite us in the arse before we know it.”

“Stop yelling. She’s calm right now, but if you keep that shit up she’ll turn rabid.”

“Bloody hell! What happens if it gets ploughin’ restless?”

“It’ll tear out your jugular,” Geralt said, matter-of-factly.

“If she starts wriggling, tell us and we’ll calm her. Take your daughter into your arms. Now.”

Phillip looked at Juray like she’d lost her mind before approaching the botchling.

“And put that fucking sword away, Geralt.”

Geralt huffed, before sheathing the sword as Phillip picked up the botchling.

“Let’s go.”

“Geralt!” Juray warned, right as the botchling started snarling. “Wraiths!”

Three of the specters appeared and Geralt drew his sword.

“Calm the botchling!”

Juray drew her own sword and turned to Phillip as a wraith came at his back. She cast Yrden, trapping and solidifying it in a circle of purple light. Juray killed it and then quickly cast Axii to calm the botchling. It calmed, cooing like a child.

“That was close,” Phillip said.

“We need to hurry,” Geralt said.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Juray asked as they passed the gates.

“No.”

“A name is important for this to work.”

“What would Anna have named her?”

“You know your wife better than I do. Only you can answer that.”

“This will work, right? She’ll be at peace as a lubberkin?”

“She’ll watch over and protect you and your family. And help us find Anna and Tamara.” They reached the spot where Phillip had dug the grave and he looked down at the botchling in his arms. “Now repeat after me.”

Phillip nodded.

“By the powers of earth and sky,” Juray began the words to the naming ceremony.

“By the powers of earth and sky.”

“By the world that was to be your home.”

“By the world that was to be your home.”

“Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace.”

“Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace.”

“I name thee, say her name, and embrace thee as my daughter.”

“I name thee Dea and embrace thee as my daughter.” Phillip’s voice broke as he said her name.

The botchling reached up towards him before she went limp. He looked up at Juray, tears in his eyes.

She nodded at him. “Now bury her.”

Phillip gently planted a kiss on Dea’s forehead and laid her in the grave, before wiping away the tears and picking up the shovel and burying her. “Now what?”

“We wait. In a day’s time, Dea should be a lubberkin. Geralt and I will stay here and wait. I’ll finish the ritual then. You go home and rest and stay out of the hooch.”

“I’ll wait with you.”

“No.”

“That’s my child. And the guilt, the responsibility for all this lies with me.”

“The time for parental impulses is long past,” Geralt said. “Besides there’s nothing you can do here. If this doesn’t work, I don’t want you in the way.”

Juray settled down, leaning against the wall of the fort. “Go, Phillip. Just Witcher’s work left to do now.”

Phillip sighed, defeated, before nodding and leaving.

“You don’t have to stay either, Geralt.”

“Oh, I’m staying. I’m seeing this though.”

A day and a night passed and Juray knelt in front of Dea’s grave, Geralt standing nearby with his arms crossed.

“By blood’s power, I summon you,” she said. “With your name I beseech you. Hear my call and arise, Dea.”

Several minutes passed with nothing. Geralt opened his mouth to say as much when Juray held her index finger up. A bluish-white glow covered the grave and a figure rose. The spirit looked like a normal newborn babe, not like the creature they’d buried.

“Lead me to those bound by your blood.”

Dea, now a lubberkin, pointed to her left as Juray rose. She and Geralt retrieved their horses and followed Dea out of the keep, a few villagers still out gasping with surprise as they passed. Dea led them east to a smokehouse, where they found clues that someone had met them with horses. Dea then led them to a spot on the road where it looked like someone had been attacked. They killed a couple of necrophages feeding on a dead horse before Geralt crouched to examine it.

“Looks like it’s been here a while,” he said. “Necrophages had a field day with this.”

Juray crouched and pointed at the claw marks on the horse’s side. “Necrophages didn’t do that. Or rip the head off. Had to have been a powerful beast. Big one too.”

“Hoping they got away.”

Dea moved away.

“I think they did,” Juray said, moving towards Shadowmount. “Dea’s leading us farther on.”

The lubberkin led them to a fisherman’s hut. Juray and Geralt looked at one another as Dea circled the porch. Juray dismounted and headed up the steps and knocking on the door. A little boy opened the door just as Geralt joined her.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Other room,” the mother said to the other children. “Go on, now.”

The father was sitting at the simple table and it looked like the family had just finished their evening meal. “What seek you here?” he asked.

Juray could smell the fear coming off him.

“Our hut’s out of the way, woeful. We ’as nothin’. We knows nothin’.”

“Mind if we join you?” Juray asked. “We just need some information and we’re hoping you might be able to help us.”

“Looking for two women,” Geralt said as the man motioned for them to sit. “The Bloody Baron’s wife and daughter.”

Juray saw the look the man exchanged with his wife.

“Not a soul’s abeen here, sir.”

“Are you sure?” Juray asked. “Could have just passed through. Daughter’s my height, about twenty. Mother is thin, about forty.”

“That’s her that came at night,” the boy who had answered the door said, looking up at his mother. “Right, mummy?”

“Quiet, boy!” Her eyes were full of fear.

“Where’s the girl go? Your boy’s said enough, no need to keep playing dumb,” Geralt said.

“No offense, but neither one of you look like her father’s men.” He looked at Juray. “An’ seeing that you’s a woman.”

“True,” Juray admitted. “We’re not. We’re just looking for Tamara and Anna. We just need to know if they’re alive and safe.”

“Aye, Tamara is. She’s at my brother’s in Oxenfurt. But Missus Anna…” He shook his head. “Though anywhere is better than Crow’s Perch with the Baron.”

“So you knew?”

“Aye. Everyone knew, but no one lifted a finger to stop it.”

“What happened to Anna?” Geralt asked.

“I was awaitin’ at the old smokehouse with horses. Cold as hell and so dark, couldn’t see past two ells in front o’ ye. Moon ‘ad risen high and still they ‘adn’t come. Began to fear some demon ‘ad snatched ‘em. But finally, they come and we sets off towards the river. Suddenly outta nowhere, a gale arose. Thought it’d tear my head off. And those damned birds! Swarms of ‘em coursein’ o’er the woods, raisin’ a racket enough to make your ears bleed. Missus Anna screamed and bent over herself. Tamara checked on her, gripping her arms. ‘Twere then I saw it, fiery marks on her hands.”

Geralt had a look on his face like that sounded familiar. The man drew the symbol in some salt he poured onto the table. Juray glanced at her friend and she knew for a fact that he’d seen this very mark before.

“Why help them at all? You risked a lot.”

“I’d a debt. Owed Miss Tamara. Three moons past a fever gripped my boy. We thought he was done for. Tamara learnt it, bought food and salves. We’re poorer than dirt itself. She saved my boy, no two ways about it. Me, myself, I’d never have dared to help.” He looked over at his wife. “But me missus told me ‘A time of war and contempt’s come, a time of folk gone wrong. We needs to repay good with good. Who idly stands by does evil as if.’.”

“Married a wise woman.”

The man smiled. “Aye, I did.” Then he sighed. “Cryin’ shame we couldn’t save Missus Anna in the end.”

“What happened?” Juray asked.

“It grew even darker and it seemed as if the stars had been put out. Crickets grew silent and from the woods there was this loud roar. Broke out in a cold sweat, but before I could catch my breath, this beast jumps out o’ the wood. Big as a barn, with horns and burning coal for eyes.”

“Fiend,” Juray recognized the beast he described.

“Thought we were done for! Attacked Missus Anna’s horse, ripped its head clean off, then carried her off into the woods. Mine and Miss Tamara’s horses got spooked and ran willy-nilly. ‘Twere the only reason we escaped. The miss wanted to go back, but the wife pleaded for her not to go, that she would die out there alone. Miss Tamara agreed not to go, sent her to Oxenfurt instead.”

“Tell me about these marks,” Geralt said.

“They looked like they were burned on with hot iron, on the palms.”

“Like a cattle brand?”

“But they was hot and glowin’, like they had freshly been burned on.”

Geralt frowned.

“You’ve seen this,” Juray said.

“While back, I met this woman in Crookback Bog. Had fiery marks just like you described.”

“Must be her! Gods, Missus Anna… in Crookback Bog.”

“It’s where I saw her last.”

“Who would drag her to Crookback Bog?” Juray asked.

“The Crones took her. She must have made a deal with them, a pact. It’s why they marked her and took her like she was one of their own.”

Geralt sighed and stood. “Thanks for the help.”

“The lady,” the little boy asked as Juray stood. “She’ll be alright in the end?”

“We’ll do what we can to make sure she is,” Juray answered.

They stepped outside, where Dea had been patiently waiting. Dea turned towards them.

“Here our paths diverge,” Juray said. “Thank you, Dea. Go in peace.”

Dea gave a bow before turning and heading back to Crow’s Perch.

“So we head to Oxenfurt and look for Tamara?” Geralt asked.

“Do you have a pass over the Pontar?”

“What do I need a pass for?”

“Radovid controls everything north of the Pontar. They are requiring people to have a pass in order to cross back into his territory. I’ll go to Oxenfurt, find Tamara since I’ve already been there. You go talk to the Baron and see if the information is good enough to trade for him telling you where Ciri went.”

“Fine.”

“I shouldn’t be long.” Juray mounted Shadowmount.

“Be careful.”

“I will, father.”

“Shut up.”

Juray gave a chuckle before turning her horse and heading towards Oxenfurt.

~~~

Geralt returned to Crow’s Peak and was stopped by the Baron’s second in command.

“Witcher, a word?”

“What?”

“That night, when the Baron ordered everyone to lock their doors, stay inside, what did the three of you do?”

“Gotta ask him about that. Speaking of, where is he?”

Ardal motioned to the garden. “Garden. Spends a lot of time just sittin’ of late.”

“Drunk?”

“No. Don’t drink, don’t eat. Just sits.” The sergeant left and Geralt headed into the garden.

After searching the place over, he finally found him sitting by a fountain. “There you are.”

Phillip didn’t even look up. “See the hollyhock there? The violet blooms? Brought the plants here from Naziar.” He looked up at Geralt. “Anna had read some story. Insisted on having them. Spent hours tending to them, trimming, pruning. She was so content at that!” He pointed at another flower. “And them? The frilly ones? Called birds of paradise in Zerrikania. Tamara called them dragons of paradise. She adores them. Damn shame I’ll never learn which blooms would please Dea the most. Though good to know her spirit’s free.”

Geralt could see why Juray’s ire had turned to sympathy. “Your loss, it must hurt, bad.” He remembered how devastated Juray had been at James’ death. She’d called him Papa, after all. “But there was nothing we could do.”

“No, not now, not anymore. It was too late, that was clear. Should’ve acted earlier, taken them all from this damned Velen. In this hole, this reasty mire, nothing could go right here.”

“Got some information on your family.”

Phillip looked up, hopeful. “You’ve learned something?” Then he noticed that Geralt was alone. “Where’s Juray?”

“Let’s talk inside.”

“Your daughter’s in Oxenfurt.”

“What the blazes? She all right? In good health? Safe? Why haven’t you brought her back?”

“Never offered to do that.”

“How do you know she’s safe? Seen her at least?”

“No, but Juray has gone to Oxenfurt to answer those questions. She should be back fairly soon.”

“What of Anna? Learn anything about her?”

“We’ll talk about her, don’t worry. But first, you’ll tell me about Ciri, like we agreed.”

“A word once given… When Ciri was on the mend, we took her on a hunt. Thought a bit o’ gallopin’ would warm her limbs gone stiff from bed rest. That lass of yours, pure luck in the flesh.”

~~~

_“To hunt down a wild boar that size, why, worthy of one of King Foltest’s feasts, were he still among the living,” Phillip bragged as Ciri approached the fire the boar was roasting over. “Ciri!” He waved her over. “Come! Whole haunch should be yours, as I see it!”_

_“Aye,” Ardal agreed. “You done well, lass.”_

_Ciri gave him a smile._

_“Not bad,” another man said. “Not bad at all, but who goes boar huntin’ with a sword?”_

_“No bow at hand,” Ciri said. “No spear. My sword was all I had.”_

_He laughed. “Well, you brandish it beautifully. Where’d they teach you that, anyway?”_

_“Kaer Morhen.”_

_“Witchers’ school there, aye?” another asked. “But they only took lads, as I recall.”_

_“Not true. Another woman trained there as well.”_

_“Mean to say you and her are she-witchers?” a fourth man asked._

_“She is. I’m not entirely. I was never subjected to the mutations. But everything else I know, I learned from the Witchers there."_

_“Know any of those potions?” The fifth man asked._

_“Not so much. A bit.”_

_“’Cause you see, atimes I get this pinchin’ back here…” he motioned towards his backside._

_“Shut it, Ygrin,” the fourth man said. “Nobody cares about your backside!” A couple chuckled. “A woman could swing a sword, I’ve knowed one. But never seen a lady mount anything but a cock proper.”_

_Ciri regarded him tight-lipped._

_“All tipsy on ‘orseback. Nothin’ strange on account they bloody mount them sideways.”_

_“Perhaps you’d care to wager?” Ciri asked._

_“Think you can outrun me on an ‘orse?” He laughed. “Naturally! What’s the stake?”_

_“Black mare. The one in the stable.” The mare reminded her of Shadowmount, her aunt’s horse. Everyone suddenly grew quiet._

_“Oh… that won’t do at all…”_

_“Well, that’s an awfully gloomy face. Too much of a coward to race a woman?”_

_“The horse is mine,” Phillip informed her._

_Ciri gave him an amused look. “To race the Baron himself,” she said as she stood. “I’d consider it an honor.” She gave him a curtsy._

_“Oh!” Ardal said with a laugh as she reclaimed her seat. “That’d be a sight to behold!”_

_“Would it ever!” one of the men agreed._

_“Done,” Phillip said. “But if I win, I take your sword.”_

_“Agreed.”_

_“I’d not drink anymore this night. You’ll want your head about you. We start at daybreak."_

_At daybreak, everyone gathered at the starting line._

_“The day dawns,” Phillip stated. He looked over at Ciri._

_“Ready?” she asked._

_“As ever. First one to the tower.”_

_“Mount up!” Ardal shouted as they approached the horses._

_Phillip rode the black mare while Ciri had been given a white one to race with._

_“Come on, Ciri. Don’t embarrass us.”_

_An old man gave the signal for the race to begin and the two horses jumped forward._

_“Want that horse, don’t ya?” Phillip taunted._

_“Had one just like it!” Ciri called back as she pulled ahead. She leaned low in the saddle like both Juray and Eskel had taught her. She had won many a race at Kaer Morhen because of their tips._

_“Your sword is mine!”_

_“That’ll be the day!”_

_She could hear Phillip closing in on her and she smiled, urging the horse to go full speed at that point and putting paces between her and Phillip. She reached the tower several lengths ahead of him. She had already dismounted by the time Phillip caught up to her._

_“You’re wind, not woman!” he said._

_Ciri gave a laugh._

_“Worthy of the best horse! The mare is yours.”_

_“Thank you.” Ciri’s smile suddenly faded as she felt they weren’t alone, holding her hand up._

_“What?”_

_Ciri’s eyes searched the trees, feeling the cat head tremble against her leg. They both spun around at the roar to see a large winged creature that looked like a scaled rooster appear from behind the tower. Ciri drew her sword as a basilisk dived at them._

~~~

“Halt! No passage!” The guard stopped Juray as she approached, leading Shadowmount.

“Got a pass,” she responded, holding it up.

The guard took it and examined it before returning it and waving her through. Juray led her mare through the streets, finding the stables to house her while she was in the city. She soon found the fisherman’s brother’s place. He lived right off the docks and seemed to be doing well for himself. She knocked on the door and a young man opened the door, a pipe in his mouth.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m going to be straight with you. I’m looking for Tamara. Your brother said she would be here.”

“Voytek sent you?”

“How else would I know she was here?”

“And who might you be?”

Juray simply tapped her medallion.

He took a step aside and motioned for Juray to come inside. “Wait here. I’ll fetch her right away.”

Juray waited, a cat walking up to her and rubbing against her, something the Witcher thought strange in itself, as every cat she neared would arch its back, fluff out its tail, and hiss and spit at her. It then jumped onto the table and demanded attention. Juray scratched the top of its head as it purred.

“You’re looking for me?” a young woman asked and Juray turned her attention to a woman with short brown hair and green eyes. “And who might you be?” She crossed her arms. “My father send you?”

“Yes. I’m Juray of Riverdell. And to see if you’re still alive.”

“I am quite alive and extraordinary well, Juray of Riverdell.”

“I can see that.”

“Better than I’ve ever been in this rotten life of mine. Now that you’ve seen me, I bid you farewell.” She turned to leave.

“Want me to tell him he can shove his fatherly concern up his ass?”

Tamara stopped and turned back to Juray.

“He’s a vile man and I don’t blame you in your anger.”

“Why are you helping him then? Why did you take this job?”

“To help a friend find _his_ daughter. Your father has information on where she might be.”

“And in exchange, you had to find me.”

“Just so.”

“That’s just like him. Well, you tell him you found me and I’m not coming back.”

“I’m not going to convince you otherwise. If that’s a choice you can live with, so be it.”

Tamara looked at Juray. “May I ask you something?”

Juray nodded.

“What of your father? Why would he allow his daughter to become a Witcher?”

“As far as I’m concerned, my father was a Witcher who died doing his job when I was a child. And he encouraged it.”

“What of your birth father?”

“What of him?”

“Why did he allow you to go?”

“That man told me to my face he wished I been stillborn.”

Tamara blinked, taken by surprise.

“I guess yours wasn’t so bad after all.” Juray started to turn away. “Tamara,” she turned back to the young woman. “My friend believes your mother is in Crookback Bog. And the two of us will find her. For you, not for your father. Because you deserve to know what became of her.”

“No need, Juray. I’ll look for her myself.”

“That won’t be easy. The swamp’s dangerous, even for a Witcher.”

“I’m not daft enough to believe I can do it alone. I’ve got some new friends now. Powerful friends.”

“Who are these friends?”

“Heard of the Church of Eternal Fire?”

“Frequently.”

“A priest helped me contact the Redanian witch hunters. Righteous, brave men. They’ll help me.”

“You sound pretty sure of that.”

“Once the heat of the Fire has set your heart aflame, it gives you strength and leads you down the path of truth for the rest of your life. I hope it’ll bless you with its warmth one day.”

Juray gave her a smile. “Just be careful you don’t get burned.”

“Well, well,” a man said and Juray turned towards him. “Can’t say I’ve ever met a Witcheress.”

“We’re a rare breed.”

The man gave a chuckle. “Didn’t think the Baron would stoop to hiring a monster slayer. Though I hear you’re good at tracking things down.”

“You know who I am, obviously, although you were a bit rude and didn’t introduce yourself.”

The man gave a laugh. “I like you, Witcher. The name’s Graden, witch hunter in the service of His Royal Majesty Radovid of Redania. I’m certain you’ve heard of us.”

“Here and there.”

“If the Bloody Baron sent you to fetch his daughter, you’d best face it, you’ve failed your task.”

“Last I checked I wasn’t a dog. Besides, I’ve already spoken to her and I believe she already made her decision on the matter. One I will respect.”

“Noble of you,” Graden said, looking Juray over as if he were studying her. “A killer for hire abandoning her bounty for the good of another. The hunters and the Church of the Eternal Fire thank you.”

“Contrary to popular belief, some of us do have a conscience. I only wished to make sure Tamara was safe from harm. I never came here with the intention of returning her to her father. I wish you luck in your new life, Tamara. Make good use of it.”

“Thank you, Juray. And thank you for giving me a choice. I wish you’d been given a choice in your life.”

Juray turned to leave, stopping when she placed her hand on the door handle. She smiled and looked over at Tamara. “I was given a choice, Tamara.”

With those words, she opened the door and stepped out of the house.


	18. A Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is directed towards Ciri's next destination. The Witchers meet an unusual creature.

“She screamed like a madwoman. In an instant, the wager had been forgotten. Every man ran to save his own skin, even if he were to break his own neck.”

“They make it?”

“Some, aye. Others were not so fortunate. But what happened then…” Phillip shook his head. “I must say, Witcher, I’ve seen a lot, but not like this. Ever.”

“I know that look.”

“You’ll get the rest when Juray returns and the two of you find Anna.”

“I’m pretty sure I know where she is.”

“Where? Why haven’t you brought her home?”

“She’s in Crookback Bog. Got food, a place to live, and keeps herself busy. Didn’t look like she had the slightest desire to leave.”

“You were to bring her back! Not report on her living conditions!”

“I was supposed to find her. And I did. That was our deal, nothing more.”

“You still think me rotten to the core, a base bastard, don’t you? You believe I alone am at fault here?”

Geralt didn’t respond and Phillip shook his head, turning and taking a seat behind his desk.

“My opinion doesn’t matter,” the Witcher said.

“Yet I see contempt when I look at you. I don’t know about the world you Witchers inhabit, but in ours, nothing is ever black and white.”

“Then enlighten me.” Geralt sat across from Phillip.

“With Annie, it was love at first sight. A spear tore through my shoulder at the Battle of Anchor, she tended my wound. Once I’d recovered, I asked her to marry me.” Phillip smiled. “She wept with joy. Soon after Tamara was born and after that they sent me to Cidaris. A warlord had risen against King Ethain and Foltest sent help. It was one battle to the next, one conflict after another. ‘Twas a life of war, I was seldom home and I found comfort in drink.” He scoffed. “Grew so fond of hooch I couldn’t part with it when I did get home. I went from front to front, battle to battle, collecting soldiers’ coin, while Anna sat alone with the babe for months. Later, I learned she’d not been so alone after all. For nearly three years, she found comfort in one Evan, a childhood friend.” Phillip scoffed. “A dog’s bunghole.” Phillip stood. “Understand, damn it! One tussle in the hay, I’d ‘ave waved aside, put it out of my mind, but the woman cuckolded me for years! Without a whisker of concern for me. For my love!”

Geralt realized now that there had been much more to their rocky marriage than his drinking and heavy hand. “How’d you find out?” he asked.

“Came home one day and Anna was gone. Her things, too. Found a letter. Wrote that she didn’t love me, that she’d left me for that knoblicker and taken Tamara with her.” He sat back down. “Felt like I’d been rammed in the arse by a horse. I went to find the bugger, to get the girls back, bring them home. Yet, soon as I saw him, something inside me turned, something dark. I slaughtered the shit-eating twat and fed his carcass to the dogs.”

“Guess they call you the Bloody Baron for a reason after all.”

“What?”

“Your nickname. Makes sense now.”

“No, no.” He waved his hand. “That’s an entirely different story.”

“Mhm. Imagine Anna wasn’t pleased.”

Phillip laughed. “Bloody understatement, if I’ve ever heard one. She flew into a fit, hysteria, threw herself at me, kickin’ and clawin’. Finally grabbed a knife. It would have been the end of me if I hadn’t leapt aside.” He looked down. “First time I hit her. Had to calm her. Felt I had no other means. Things changed, they would never be the same. Anna tried to take her own life, and mine, several times.” He stood again and walked over to the fireplace. “She would prod me, goad me, taunt me, in the hopes that I would hit her again, perhaps? She’d scream that I robbed her life of love, that I destroyed the idea for her and so might as well kill her. How many times I apologized, how many armfuls of blooms and gifts I brought.” He shook his head sadly. “She cared not a bit. Two years of her anger turned to indifference, broken at times by her bouts of hysteria and my bouts of drunkenness.”

Geralt stood and joined him at the fireplace.

“Cannot fathom how we survived those years, but we did. Though as you know now, not everything was as it seemed.”

“You’re right,” Geralt finally agreed. “Fault’s on both sides, yours and hers.”

“I’m content that you finally see that. If you won’t bring Anna home, at least tell me how she ended up in that blasted swamp.”

“She made a pact with the Crones and, well, I think she might’ve lost her mind.”

“A pact? What the bloody hell?”

“She was with child, a child she didn’t want. Went to the Crones for help. They promised to rid her of the problem in exchange for a year of her service. And they kept their word, in their own twisted way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anna must have thought the child inside her would just disappear. Instead, the Crones sapped her of her strength and forced her body to miscarry. I think that’s when she started to lose her mind. Then they placed magic tethers on her, tethers that cause great pain when tested. A guarantee that she’ll pay off her debt.”

Phillip couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A pact with witches… Bloody nightmare, sounds like some jest! We must get her out! We can’t just leave her!”

“The swamp’s a dangerous place. Even if you went in with armed men. And I think those Crones are a greater threat than anyone realizes.”

“I’ll not sit on my arse and wait for them to return her! Would you wait, count on their mercy if they had your daughter?”

“Probably not, but I’m a Witcher.”

“And I’m a husband and father who’s fucked up his life and the lives of his loved ones. I’ll gather my men, go there and retrieve Anna.”

“And you’re obviously suicidal if you want to go marching through Crookback Bog and fuck with these Crones.”

The men turned to see Juray leaned in the doorway.

“How long have you been standing there?” Geralt asked.

“Long enough.” She pushed off the doorframe.

“Tamara?” Phillip asked. “Where is she?”

“Oxenfurt, but she has no intention of coming back here. Ever.”

“What!? She belongs here with me!”

“Tamara is a big girl and can make her own choices.”

“What if it was your child? Wouldn’t you do anything you keep them safe?”

“I would. But he is free to make his own choices.”

This caught Geralt’s attention.

“Choices that make him happy. Tamara is safe and sound and happy to be making a life for herself. Would you rather she be miserable?”

Phillip deflated. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Then respect her choice.”

Phillip nodded and turned to Geralt. “I believe I had a deal with you to finish the tale.”

“You did since we’ve kept our part of it.”

“Now what did I just…”

“Basilisk. It just attacked you.”

Juray only raised a brow.

“Ah right. Gargantuan. One solid brute. It landed right in front of us. I thought we’d breathed our last.”

~~~

_“Look out!” Ciri cried._

_“If I don’t survive this, you’re to take whatever you want from the fortress,” Phillip said._

_“You’ll survive!”_

_“Let’s show this bastard what we’re worth!”_

_The basilisk attacked them and they defended, Ciri’s blade hitting true more often than Phillip’s as they danced around to avoid the poison the giant creature spit at them. Just as Phillip landed a hit, the basilisk swung its head around, knocking him back. He hit the ground hard, his sword flying from his hand and skittering out of reach. The basilisk saw he was vulnerable and jumped into the air as Phillip was scrambling to his sword. It landed on top of him and went for the kill, only to be interrupted by Ciri’s blade across its back. It screeched and threw a wing back, knocking Ciri several feet away. She rolled head over heels, twisting her body around to where she would land on her feet. By the time she was darting back towards it, the basilisk grabbed Phillip into its talons and flew to the tower with him, the Baron screaming._

_“Fuuuuuuck!”_

_His voice and screams faded away and Ciri looked for a way to get to the tower to help him. She climbed the nearby rocks until she was at the base of the tower and hearing his curses and the beast’s roars. Ciri focused on the Power, the reason so many people had tried to take advantage of her and use her and the reason the Wild Hunt was looking for her. Without it, she wouldn’t be able to reach Phillip in time. Bending time and space itself, Ciri jumped to the top of the tower, just in time to slice her sword across the charging monster’s chest, causing it to fall back. Ciri charged at it while it was down, jumping onto its back and slicing the back of its neck and severing its spine. The basilisk collapsed and Ciri casually stepped off of it before finishing severing its head. She turned back to see Phillip with the dagger he carried at his chest in his hand and looking at her slack-jawed. He continued to stare at her in shock as he moved to sheath the dagger, missing twice before finally taking his eyes off her to properly sheath it._

~~~

_Ciri was preparing to leave with the mare she’d won from Phillip when he joined her in the stable._

_“You got everythin’?” he asked._

_“Yes, thank you.”_

_Phillip had supplied her with supplies and a pass across the Pontar. She would head to Novigrad, hoping to find Geralt and Yennefer there. She heard that her father’s best friend lived there and if Geralt wasn’t there, then Jaskier would know where to find him. Or be able to point her to someone that could help her with something that needed to be done._

_“What you did for me…,” Phillip began. “I… I’ll never forget that.”_

_“I certainly hope not,” she replied with a sigh. “It brought me no small trouble.”_

_“Meanin’?” Phillip had a concerned look on his face._

_“I must flee. Wraiths pursue me. The Wild Hunt. I was foolish to use the Power. They’re sure to have caught my scent.”_

_“The Wild Hunt? Pursuing you?”_

_“I’ll endanger all of you by remaining here. You must tell the people to bar their windows and doors. And no one is to wander the night.”_

_“And you? Where do you think you’re going?”_

_“Now, I ride for Novigrad. And then who knows where.” Ciri turned and mounted the mare. “Thank you for everything.”_

_Phillip inclined his head and Ciri urged the horse on, the Baron following her out the stable and watching her ride past the gate._

_“Gods go with you, my friend.”_

~~~

“She mounted and rode off. It grew awfully empty without her.”

“She tends to have that effect,” Juray said with a smirk, earning her a look from Geralt. She gave him a grin before he turned his attention back to Phillip.

“So there’s a chance Ciri’s still in Novigrad,” Geralt said, as Juray turned her head towards the door. “Thanks for helping her.”

She had never felt magic like what she was currently sensing.

“It’s nothin’. Now you’ve learned what you’ve wanted to know, you must be in a hurry. But… if you could…,” he trailed off.

“Spit it out.”

Juray wasn’t paying attention to their conversation now, as she was trying to pinpoint what she was sensing.

“I want to go get Anna. Free her, bring her back. I don’t believe she’s there willingly.”

“Must not have heard me. The swamp is suicide.”

“I heard you. Which is why I could use both your aid. I’ve no more tales of Ciri to offer you, but go with me and I’ll be generous with what I do have. Very generous.”

“Extra coin never hurt anyone. Juray?” When she didn’t respond, Geralt looked over at her. “Juray.”

She turned her head towards them. “What?”

“Going to the swamp to get Anna? We’ll be rewarded.”

“Of course. For Anna.”

Geralt gave her a concerned look.

“I’ll round up my men and ride to Downwarren. You can join us there. Why is she looking like that?”

At that moment the door slammed open and the ugliest creature either Witcher had ever seen came running in shouting jibberish, their medallions vibrating. It was maybe three feet tall and hunched over with thin arms and legs. It had boils on its body, a large misshapen head, and one eye that was bigger than the other. It was wearing shorts with bells attached to it.

“What the…?” Geralt started.

Ardal ran into the room. “There you are!”

Phillip motioned to the creature as Ardal grabbed him under his arms and dragged him out, the creature screaming jibberish the entire time.

“Escaped again,” Ardal said.

It reached out towards Juray as they passed by in the moment before Ardal turned it around to go back out the door. “Sorry. We was never here.”

“What the hell was that?” Juray asked, realizing that was the strange magic she was sensing.

“You tell me,” Phillip said. “Man or monster? My men call him Uma and say he’s a beast, but he seems a man to me, just hideous as Ardal’s shit.”

“Definitely not a monster.”

“You were sensing that?” Geralt asked.

Juray nodded. “It’s a magic I’ve not sensed before.”

“Is that why you weren’t listening?” Phillip asked.

“Curse of birth. The mutations amplified what I can sense magic and monster-wise.”

“Where’s he get the name Uma?” Geralt asked.

“He gave us no other.”

“He can talk?”

“Hardly. I asked what they call him. He sat there, not sayin’ a thing, tryin’ to stick a toe up his nose. So I grabbed his hand and looked him in the eyes and asked, ‘What’s your name?’ Gave me this damned foolish look and says ‘Oooh… Uma?’ and the name stuck.”

Geralt looked at Juray. “You’re positive this isn’t a monster?”

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know the difference between magic and monster. Did you conveniently forget the medallions tremble at magic as well?”

He gave her a look before turning back to Phillip. “Where’d you find him?”

“Funny story, actually. Won him in a game of cards.”

“You’re right, that’s hilarious,” Juray said sarcastically.

“Went to Novigrad once, to rest, indulge in the city’s pleasures. Stayed at a tavern, and some folks were playin’, so I joined in. Cards were kind that day. One devilish hand after another, robbed the whoresons blind. One fellow, a merchant, took it especially hard. He’d gambled away everything he’d brought from Skellige. Wanted terribly to play another hand, so I let him. Asked him what he had to wager and he shows me that sideshow.” Phillip shrugged. “Not much in it for me, but fuck it. Thought I’d give him a chance to win something back.” He shook his head. “Luck was not with him and Uma wound up here at Crow’s Perch. End of story.”

“Proper baron now,” Geralt said. “Even got a jester now.”

“Aye, though I feel something’s not right with him.”

“How so?”

“Seems more beast than man, but there’s wisdom, cunning in the bastard’s eyes. Maybe I’m imagining it. Ever run into anything like that?”

“No.” Geralt looked over at Juray.

“I haven’t seen or sensed anything like him. And I’ve seen a lot. I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then that’s that,” Phillip said. “Doesn’t eat much, so long as he stays out of trouble, the boys might as well have some diversion.”

“I have some things to take care of before I meet you in Downwarren,” Geralt said.

“Farewell.” Phillip stuck out his hand and Geralt shook it. “I hope you find your daughter.” The three headed towards the door. “And prove to be a good father to her.”

Geralt stopped for a moment before continuing on. The Witchers stopped at the stairs leading down to the courtyard as Phillip and Ardal headed to the stable that was being rebuilt after the baron’s temper tantrum.

“You’ve always been a good father, Geralt,” Juray said. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

“You told him that you let your child make his own choices.” He looked over at her. “Or was that you talking out your ass again.”

“His family was killed by the beast I’d been Contracted to kill. I wasn’t going to leave this toddler to fend for himself, but I wanted him to have as normal a childhood as he could. One of the last things Angelo did before he died was to set us up with a house and Finn’s daughter watched over him while I walked the Path. I had just broken it off with Gavin and I wasn’t ready to return to wintering at Kaer Morhen and deal with Lambert.”

“I’m pretty sure at that time, we would have been conducting Lambert’s funeral.”

Juray scoffed a laugh. “You may be right. I trained him, naturally, and let him make his own choices with his life.”

Geralt nodded. “Are you going to head to Downwarren?”

“There’s a Contract I’ve had my eye on. What are you going to be doing?”

“Heading back to Midcopse. Kiera asked me for a favor.”

“Good luck with that.” Juray headed down the stairs as the Baron and Ardal headed towards the gates. “Meet you in Midcopse, then?”

“Lindenvale is closer to Downwarren.”

“Meet you there.”


	19. Fyke Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is Contracted to lift a curse.

Geralt could feel something wasn’t right about this isle. And he was pretty sure it had more to do than the amount of drowners, necrophages, and wraiths he’d killed since arriving. Using the lamp Kiera had given him, he was able to find several harmless spirits that seemed to be reliving the day they died. Turned out the villagers hadn’t come to beg for food as Kiera had been told, but to murder their lord. Geralt went through the abandoned village that nature was well on its way to reclaiming, and headed to the tower at the center of the isle.

Inside, he saw the place was crawling with rats.

“Where’s that noble?”

Geralt turned the lamp towards the voice, seeing the ghosts of a couple of the villagers.

“Lying here, quiet as a mouse, head split open like a rotten pumpkin.”

“More like a peasant, sloshin’ around in his own blood and shite. Be nothin’ noble ‘bout him. Too quick a death they gave him. Should’ve made him suffer.”

“He’s not the end of it. Sons can suffer for ‘im. And the daughter! To the top!” They disappeared and Geralt headed up the stairs, where he found the ghosts of Vserad and his daughter.

“Don’t start, Anabelle,” he said. “Back to your crafts! Always bending my ear about fool peasants! I’ll not hear of them again! That simpleton turned your head! But one Graham hardly makes the rest courtly, one and all.”

Another ghost ran in. “My lord! Peasants! They’re through the door, in the tower!” They, too, disappeared.

As he continued to climb the tower, he noticed the torches, candles, and fireplaces seemed to be lighting themselves.

“Gooooold!” a voice cried, excitedly. “Piles of it! Won’t do the dead any good, will it?” A ghost was going through chests in a room. “Strange it’s still here. The noble died a time ago.”

Geralt realized this was the ghost of a scavenger.

The ghost turned, looking around. “Who’s that? Show yourself! Anyone there? Who… who are you?” Then he suddenly screamed and disappeared.

Setting the lamp on the table, Geralt crouched next to the body on the floor. While every other body looked like it had been here a while, the one looked fresher, maybe a week or two old. “Wonder what killed him,” Geralt muttered.

Geralt finally reached the top of the tower, cursing himself for agreeing to this. Kiera’s voice came from the xenovox, a contraption that allowed her to speak to Geralt across the distance, breaking the silence.

“Where are you? Have you got to the laboratory at the top of the tower yet?”

“I’m at the top. Nothing here that looks like a laboratory.”

“Then you have not reached the highest level. Look for a passage.”

Using his Witcher senses, he soon found evidence of the passageway, before finding the mechanism to open the door. He walked up the stairs and found the laboratory Kiera spoke of. He was amazed at how well equipped it was. Across the room was another ghost, who looked to be crying.

“Why did you leave?” she asked. “I thought you loved me. I’m cold. Why has no one come for me? I cannot leave this place, I see no way out.” She looked over at Geralt. “Who are you? Do you seek to hurt me as well?” She walked over to him.

Geralt could sense something was different about her, not just for the fact that she seemed to be aware that he was there, but for the fact his medallion was vibrating on his chest.

“I’m a Witcher,” he said. “I wanna lift the curse that grips this place. Your turn to tell me who you are. The other ghosts couldn’t see me.”

“I’m special. Always was. The rare beauty. The lord’s daughter. These lands, as far as the eye can see, were ours. My family and I, we hid in the mage’s tower, to await the war’s end, the end of hard times. It was not to be forever!”

“The mage who lived here? Who was he?”

“Alexander. I hardly knew him. He spent most of his time locked away in this tower. He’s dead, too, you know! They’re all dead! Mountains of corpses! Yet I stand here alone! All alone! They’ve all abandoned me! Even he who promised me everlasting love. You will abandon me as well!”

“If I can lift the curse, you yourself will be free to leave. Tell me what happened here. Peasants sailed to the island to ask for food. Is that true?”

“No, they came to rob and kill. They thought us rich, believed we’d stowed ourselves away here to laugh at their misery. Yet we had little food as well. Too little to share with those who came. They slaughtered everyone. I heard my father cry out, but the mage told me not to reveal myself or let anyone in.” Anabelle hugged herself. “He gave me a potion. If I was discovered, I was to drink it. He said everything would be all right.”

“What kind of potion? Remember its smell, what it looked like?”

Anabelle shook her head. “I remember only I feared to drink it.”

“Didn’t trust the mage?”

“In the village, they claimed he meddled in disease. Not curing it, but causing it. They said he lured the rats into the tower, infected them with the Catriona.”

The Catriona was a plague that had been running rampant on the Continent before Geralt’s deadly encounter with a peasant mob in Rivia.

“Only rumors, surely. But I was afraid, so horribly afraid.” Anabelle started to cry again. “Then I heard him,” she sobbed. “My beloved Graham. He called to me. I opened the door for him, but others rushed in. They lunged at me and… and.” She gave a ragged breath.

“Your beloved failed to save you. Why?”

“There were too many. ‘Leave her be,’ he cried. He grabbed them, tried to stop them. They just laughed.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“They gripped my arms, tore my dress. I managed to free myself and drink the potion, then… nothing.”

“Poisoned? That how you died?”

“No, for later I awoke. I was alone. It was dark. Only there were rats… everywhere. Dozens. Hundreds. And I couldn’t move.”

“Sleeping potion. Effects hadn’t worn off yet and you were paralyzed.”

Annabelle nodded. “They were everywhere, all over me. My face, my hands. I felt them rip into me. They tore me apart and I could not even scream.” She hugged herself again and gave a strangled sob. “Have I not suffered enough?!” she screamed. “Why can’t I leave this place?!”

“Can you talk to the other specters?”

“No, they flee when they see me. I don’t know why.” Anabelle then looked at Geralt curiously. “You do not fear me, do you?”

“No. I’m used to dealing with ghosts. Though… gotta admit, there’s something different about you. You’re different. Found a fresh corpse on the way up here. What monster hunts here?”

“There are no monsters here. Just ghosts.”

“No ghost did that to him. Ghosts don’t leave marks like that.”

“Why do you keep asking me questions? I thought you were to be my savior!”

Geralt sighed. “What can I do to help you?”

“A curse born of hatred binds me to this place. Only love’s power can hope to lift it, but who would love a wraith?”

“And your beloved? He dead, too?”

“Graham? No, he lives. I would know if he died. But he fled and abandoned me! Left me here all alone!”

“Maybe you could strip the curse yourself by forgiving him. You might cleanse the island.”

“Oh, Graham. I miss him so. He was a fisherman’s son and my father strongly objected. Each night I walk to the island’s shore to gaze upon the village. Does he remember me still?”

Suspicion crept into Geralt’s mind, an idea on why Anabelle’s ghost was so different from the others. “You said earlier you can’t leave the tower.”

“Did I? You must have misheard.”

“Would be the first time.”

“I… I don’t know anymore. It’s all a nightmare to me.”

“As I see it, you’re the curse’s focus. The other ghosts, their auras aren’t nearly as strong as yours. My medallion started pulsating as soon as we started talking.”

“I don’t know what you mean, but you seem to know some things. You could be right,” she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “My fate is tied to this isle, I feel that. Perhaps because I’m heiress to these lands?”

“It could be your blood ties to the land, the base of the curse, that is. If so, forgiving Graham, laying your resentment to rest, should lift it.”

Anabelle paused. “I… I loved him. I’m prepared to forgive him. But I must know that he regrets what he did. Take my bones to him.” She pointed to the nearby skeleton, Geralt assuming it was Anabelle’s remains. “He must bury them. This will be our farewell. Will you speak to him? Will you do this for me?”

As much as Geralt wanted to give Anabelle peace and lift the curse on Fyke Isle, his instincts were telling him not to take anything from the island. “Sad story, but something isn’t right. Got a feeling…”

“What is it?”

“You know the island is dangerous, but refuse to tell me about the monster that lives here.”

“There is no monster!”

“I think you’re lying. Question is, why? To protect the beast, or is it that —”

“Stop!” Annabelle interrupted before he could tell her his conclusion, having guessed why she was so different. “I will not hear this!”

“I can’t help you then. Taking anything off this cursed island, or any cursed place, is just too dangerous. And a dead woman’s bones? That’s just asking for trouble.”

“They said Witchers are heartless beasts. Will you bring Graham then? I so long to say goodbye.”

“Annabelle, listen…”

“You never wished to help me! And here I hoped somebody would finally take pity on me.” Annabelle’s ghost started to take a more solid form and Geralt stepped back, reaching for his silver sword. “Stupid woman that I am!”

Geralt’s instinct and guess had been correct. Annabelle was a pesta, a type of wraith commonly known as a plague maiden, despite their general rarity. Disease and death followed in their wake and were normally the spirits of women who died of disease. Geralt felt that Annabelle’s transformation into one was from whatever curse that held the island, coupled with her death by being eaten alive by rats.

Anabelle lunged at him and he dodged, casting Yrden and trapping her in place. Geralt was unprepared to fight her, as his sword had no oils on it to counter her, but hoped the magical trap would aid him as he attacked. When the magic of the trap faded, the pesta darted past him and out the door behind him. Geralt gave chase, trying not to fall down the many flights of stairs in his pursuit. Once outside, she tried to blindside him, but having anticipated it, rolled out of the way. He cast Yrden again, but the wraith dodged the trap.

“You cannot kill me. You know this,” Annabelle said before disappearing.

Geralt growled, knowing she was right.

“What was that?” Kiera asked through the xenovox, her tone worried. “It sounded for a moment like you’d joined the wraiths yourself.”

“Had to fight a pesta.”

“A pesta? Did you learn how to lift the curse before you lunged at her, sword in hand?”

“Hey, she did the lunging first. But yeah, we talked a bit. Looks like I need to get her beloved to the island. Fisherman named Graham.”

“I know the man. Lives in Oreton, village on the lakeshore. Find him immediately. We’re close to unraveling this. I can feel it.”

Geralt only rolled his eyes before heading to the spot where he’d left the boat.

Geralt was directed to Graham’s hut, but warned that he barely spoke to his neighbors, let alone strangers. The Witcher went anyway to speak to the fisherman.

“I told you to leave me be!” came the shout when Geralt knocked on the door.

“I wanna talk,” Geralt answered.

“Who are ye?”

“I’m a Witcher.”

“What of it? Why should I care?”

“I’ve been to the island. I know what happened.”

Graham grew quiet before the door opened. He looked Geralt over before turning and heading back into his hut. Geralt took a quick look around, immediately noticing the painting of a young woman with candles and flowers around it.

“What do you want?”

“Wanna talk to you about Annabelle.”

A look of sorrow passed over Graham’s face. “Anabelle,” he whispered. “What can you know about her?”

“I met her. Talked to her.”

Graham looked down. “Annabelle’s dead. Drank poison. And I… I couldn’t save her.” His shoulders slumped as he remembered that failure.

“You loved her.”

“Aye. Something mad. Loved her so deep I believed we’d come through, believed we’d be together. Course, ‘twas not to her father’s liking, his daughter and a plain lout.”

“What happened on Fyke Isle? Tell me your side.”

“‘Twere Millie, Finch, and Faulkner, they rallied the men, all roughs, to go to the isle, take back what was ours from the noble. They knew I was known at the tower, that the lord’s servants would open the gate for me seein’ I sold them fish.”

“They force you to go with them?”

Graham shook his head as he sat on a stool next to the shrine of Anabelle. “No, I… I saw my chance in it. For Anabelle and me to flee. But… it all spun into chaos. Our boys from the village, they started killin’ everyone. Anabelle, they wanted to rape!” Graham looked over at the shrine, tears in his eyes. “‘Twere then she drank the poison. Mage must’ve gave it to her. I ran out of the tower, hollerin’ that I wanted to die, cursin’ them all to hell.” He put his head in his hands. “Don’t force me to speak of it. No more, please.”

“Said you were hollering as you fled. What exactly did you say?”

“I… I don’t remember. I wanted them to pay, for what they’d done to her!”

“Might’ve cursed them. There’s a powerful magical aura on Fyke Isle. Passions, evil intent, strong emotions of any kind can trigger it. Your words could be the curse’s source.”

“She took poison, because of them.” Graham’s voice was full of anger and grief.

“It wasn’t poison, Graham. Anabelle drank a strong sleeping potion. Mage wanted to protect her, make it look like she was dead. Convinced everyone.”

Graham finally looked up. “But… that means…” He stood. “Is she…? You said you spoke to her.”

“Spoke to her ghost.”

Graham deflated again.

“By the time she awoke, tower was full of cold corpses. And rats. She was warm meat. Rats ate her alive.”

Graham looked horrified. “You mean… she was alive the whole time? But… can’t be! She was cold all through. Like a corpse. I shook her, begged her to open her eyes. I never thought…” He placed his head in his hands.

Geralt placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. No guilt in not knowing. And you couldn’t have known it wasn’t poison she drank.” Geralt’s words seemed to have no effect on the fisherman.

“Gods! What have I done?! If I’d stayed behind to bury her…I’d a noticed she was still alive. It might’ve ended different, ended well.”

“If you’d stayed on the island, I doubt you would have survived.”

“I’d take death to leaving her to the rats like that! But there’s naught I can do about that now!”

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“Anabelle needs you. You can still help her.”

“Is she still there? In the tower? Can I… see her?”

“Yeah. One thing you should know, though. In death, Anabelle turned into a pesta.”

“A pester? What’s that?”

“More than a restless ghost. A plague maiden, a powerful wraith filled with grief and hatred that drives her, gives her the power to sow disease and death.”

“She suffers… How am I to help her? Gods know I’m willin’.”

“Anabelle thinks you abandoned her.”

“Gods! She… hates me! All this time, she’s thought I ran, abandoned her?”

“Yes. Go to the tower, talk to her. Maybe you can convince her that’s not how it was.”

“I thought she died!” Graham was distraught. “I’d never have left her there otherwise!”

“The curse has imprisoned Anabelle and the other spirits on the island. Love can shatter its power, free her and them.”

“Just as in the legends.”

“If you know the legends, you know one kiss is enough to break an evil spell. On one condition: that the kiss comes from someone whose love is true.”

“I told you, I said I love her with all my heart. Take me to her! Please!”

“It’s dangerous, there are risks involved. Understand that, don’t you.”

“Course. I’m no coward.” He walked past Geralt and toward the door. “I’ll not run this time.”

They returned to the island and the tower. Geralt didn’t see Annabelle at first, although his medallion was trembling. Graham was looking around, taking in the room and no doubt remembering the last time he saw his beloved.

“You have not forgotten,” Annabelle suddenly said. “You’ve returned for me.”

Graham’s eyes widened when Annabelle appeared. “I-is-is that…?”

“Don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Annabelle. The one you abandoned, remember?”

“Annabelle, I was sure you were dead. If I’d known otherwise, I’d never have left you! I’d do anything for you! You know that. Believe me, I beg you!”

“Prove it. Kiss me.”

“Graham, careful,” Geralt warned.

Graham looked over his shoulder at Geralt before walking over to Annabelle’s pesta form and stroking her face. As he leaned in close, her form changed into a beautiful young woman. He held her close, kissing her deeply. Then he gave a grunt of pain before collapsing. Annabelle remained in that form as she knelt next to Graham, placing a hand on his cheek before taking him into her arms.

“At last,” she said before she disappeared.

Geralt could feel the magic in the place dissipate. “The curse has been lifted and Anabelle and Graham are reunited,” he said.

He turned and headed out of the tower to return to Kiera.


End file.
